


When Hell Freezes Over

by ThatSameSong



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Attempted Murder, Character Death, Classic Horror Movie Tropes, F/F, Falling In Love, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, Inspired By Until Dawn (Video Game), Lesbian Character, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Character Death, Minor Rachel Amber/Chloe Price, Murder, POV Alternating, POV Minor Character, Survival Horror, The Middle of Nowhere, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:37:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 104,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSameSong/pseuds/ThatSameSong
Summary: One year after the disappearance of Rachel Amber, Nathan Prescott invites several to his fellow classmates to one of the Prescotts many estates, this one located in a remote area of the mountains.  Among this seemingly random group of party guests is Max Caulfield, the only one wondering why Nathan invited them up there.  Complicating matters is the inclusion of Chloe Price, Max's best friend whom she hasn't seen in over four years.  The unresolved animosity between them becomes more palpable as the night wears on.  However, their carefree weekend is cut short by a disappearance, followed by a murder.  It soon becomes clear that someone is targeting the terrified teens.  Cut off from the rest of the world by a snow storm, what was meant to be a peaceful vacation turns into a horrifying fight for survival against unknown forces.





	1. The Prescotts Mountain Estate

**Max**

Was this the worst idea ever?

Max was wondering that as she took the cable car up to Nathan Prescott's ample house in the woods.

Was messing with anything Prescott-related a good idea? Under normal circumstances, hell no. The Prescotts were always bad news. They stank of dirty money and brought conflict pretty much everywhere they went. Referred to as “pillars of Arcadia Bay” on the regular. Which might have been true, but they were also a family of assholes and thieves who'd woven their twisted legacy into an otherwise sleepy Oregon town. Max was perfectly justified in steering clear of the Prescotts' messed up only son.

So why the hell had she taken a bus all the way from Arcadia Bay and into the mountains just to spend time at a _Prescott_ estate? Why was she willingly putting herself in a position that demanded she go within twenty feet of Nathan?

For one thing, Max wasn't the only one going. Sitting next to her was Warren Graham, her willing partner in crime. Neither were exactly thrilled about what they were doing, but at least they were doing it together. Warren had only tagged along because he found out Max was going. And if the texts were to be believed, it wasn't just them braving the cold to hang out with a Prescott. So it wasn't just them, alone in the mountains with a Prescott. One piece of good news.

But even with that, Max wasn't sure what compelled her to accept the invitation. Up until a few weeks ago, she'd been doing her best to stay out of Nathan's way. And she'd actually been succeeding, despite having classes with Victoria Chase. Then Nathan texted her out of the blue. How the fuck had he even gotten her number? Victoria? Definitely wasn't Warren. In any case, Nathan had invited her to this little shindig and Max had said yes. Same for Warren.

Why would the Prescotts even build a house up there? Probably just because they could. Max couldn't think of anything even approaching a good reason. This place was way too isolated for her taste.

Max sighed, leaning her head against Warren's shoulder. It was way too cold out. And this place was far too isolated for her taste. She'd expected some place a little ways out of town, somewhere in a densely populated area surrounded by tons of other houses. But the Prescotts loved their solitude. No shacking up anywhere near a bunch of peasants. Max regretted not doing her research. But there wasn't much she could do about it now. Bus had already left.

“Cold?” said Warren.

Despite feeling under-dressed, Max shook her head. Yeah, she was cold, but she didn't want Warren to worry. Max felt like she owed him peace of mind, if that was even possible when Nathan Prescott was around. She'd told him over and over again that he didn't need to go, but of course Warren insisted.

“I'm fine,” she said. “You?”

Warren shot her that goofy grin of his.

“I'm great, Mad Max,” he said. “Partying with a Prescott. Why wouldn't I be awesome?”

Max laughed. It sounded so ridiculous the way Warren said it. But that was what they were there to do, right? Party with Nathan Prescott. In a house. In basically the middle of nowhere. That sounded like the opposite of a good time. But at least it was only for the weekend. Once Monday rolled around, Max could hopefully go back to pretending Nathan didn't exist.

The cable car was going at an agonizingly slow pace, giving Warren and Max plenty of time to think about where they were going. Not that it mattered now. No going back.

Max looked around. Other than Warren, she hadn't seen a single other person since getting off the bus. Were they the last ones there?

She shuddered. Max was getting major flashbacks to every teen horror flick from the nineties she'd watched as a kid. But that was ridiculous, right? Given it was the Prescotts they were talking about, the house was probably fancier than a five star hotel. Nothing creepy about a hot tub and a bunch of flat-screen TVs.

When the cable car reached the top, Max and Warren both leaped off. Having gotten used to sitting down and not feeling the ground under her feet, Max had to steady herself. Almost dropped her duffel bag and backpack. She'd packed a lot of weekend stuff, most of it she probably wasn't going to end up using. Max wasn't sure what she needed, other than a ton of sweaters and jeans. No skis or anything like that.

Warren grabbed Max's arm to keep her upright. He too had a backpack and a duffel bag. They were only staying for the weekend, but they'd texted back and forth about bringing as many clothes as possible. Max was willing to bet Warren had half his closet in that duffel bag.

“Where are we?” said Max.

She squinted. It was snowing pretty hard. Could barely see five feet in front of her. But from what Max could see, there wasn't a house in sight. Just an expanse of woods that didn't seem to end.

“I think we follow the trail?” said Warren.

He dug his phone out of his pocket. Nathan had texted them all the details over the past week, including where to go and what to do when they got there. According to Nathan, someone was supposed to meet them and take their bags. But maybe he thought they weren't coming? After all, Max and Warren were the last ones. Made sense no one else was around.

Max started off without waiting for Warren. She could barely see the trail, but she could sort of feel it under her thick boots. There was no way Max was staying there. The cold was starting to bleed through her heavy coat. Max was terrified of freezing to death out there. She could tell they both were, even though Warren wouldn't say it.

Warren put his phone away, jogging to catch up with Max.

“Hey, wait up,” he said.

Neither of them would admit it, but they were scared of what would happen if the trail ended and there was no house. Would they just go back to the bus station and wait? Could they call for help? Phones didn't seem to work all the way out there. Maybe at the supposed house, but even that was a long shot.

At least her parents knew where she was. But they thought Max was going to be out there for the weekend. Friday to Monday. Three whole days before they would start to get worried. Too much time in between for Max to feel comfortable about the situation.

They just had to pray there actually was a house. Because neither of them wanted to be out in this cold.

  


**Max**

When Max saw the outline of what appeared to be a building, she almost laughed in relief.

They'd been walking for about ten minutes, Max struggling against the bracing cold with her duffel bag and backpack. Warren offered to take both, but she pointed out that he'd likely fall behind if he was weighed down too much. They couldn't risk getting separated. Not in this place. Not when the wind was starting to howl and the temperature seemed to be dropping rapidly.

So the house was real. Even several feet away, Max could tell that it was enormous. When Nathan had said “house”, she'd expected something small and intimate. This was a _mansion._ At least two times bigger than Max's actual house. The Prescott motto: _Go big or go home._

Warren reached the door first. He pressed his face against the window, trying to see if there was anyone inside. Even from where she stood, Max could tell he couldn't see anything. The windows were frosted over.

Shrugging, Warren knocked on the door. He had no idea if it was unlocked or not. That just seemed like the polite thing to do.

Max came up beside him. She dropped her duffel bag and wrapped her arms around herself. She felt so exposed, despite them being right in front of the house. The warmth of a fireplace and a hot bath was so close, yet so far.

Were there bears out there? Max had tried to keep thoughts like that out of her head while they were walking, but now they wouldn't stop. She definitely knew there were wild animals, but bears? Or maybe coyotes? Hadn't she heard something big moving through the woods on their way there? A deer maybe? Max was getting a little disoriented just thinking about it. She couldn't be sure what she heard underneath the howling wind. A twig snapping? A branch falling?

She was jerked out of her thoughts by the sound of Warren slamming his fist into the door. Three times in succession. Trying to get the attention of whoever was inside the house. The place obviously wasn't deserted. Lights were on.

“Maybe there's a back door?” said Max.

Or a window they could break? Honestly, she didn't give a shit anymore. Didn't care if Nathan threw a fit. Just wanted to get inside and be warm.

She was seriously considering breaking one of the windows. It didn't look too sturdy. Could have gotten a big rock or something. Could have hurled it straight at the glass and watched it shatter. Or maybe her backpack was heavy enough? It was weighing pretty heavily on her shoulders. One good swing might be enough to break the window and get them inside. Max could worry about being sued for property damage later, when she was warming herself in front of the fire.

While Warren tried the door, Max looked around. She didn't see any big rocks, but that was okay. Maybe a small rock could do it? She really just needed to make a hole in the glass, then wrap a T-shirt or something around her hand and punch out the rest. She'd seen that in a movie. Max wasn't sure glass was that breakable in real life, but she was willing to try anything.

“What the hell?” said Warren.

He was rattling the doorknob, trying to force it open. No luck. It seemed to be locked from the other side. Were they _supposed_ to use the back door? Had any of Nathan's texts mentioned that? Why would anyone need to lock the door if they were in the middle of nowhere?

Max looked back the way they'd come. It was going to be a long trek back to the cable car. And of course no bus to take them home. Now Max was starting to panic a little.

Then they both heard the door rattling, but this time from the other side. Max and Warren took a step back, eying the front door warily. As they both watched, it continued to rattle like someone was trying to open it from the other side. But either the knob was stuck or the person on the other side was extremely bad at opening doors.

Max grabbed her duffel bag and held it like a shield, ready to bolt. She had no idea where she planned to run though. Deeper into the woods? That seemed like an all around shit plan. If some psychopath was out there, they'd be caught in no time. There was really nowhere to go out there. Max felt like she should have been more aware of that before she accepted Nathan's invitation.

The doorknob finally turned and the door swung open. Max and Warren both flinched at the exact same moment, completely on edge.

Victoria Chase was standing in the doorway, hands on her hips. As usual, she was wearing some of the most expensive clothes Max had ever seen. Furry boots that probably cost more than Max's entire wardrobe, designer jeans, and a sweater that looked like something out of a high profile fashion magazine. Classic Victoria.

As soon as the door opened, Max felt a blast of warm air. In contrast to the frosty weather outside, it seemed to be practically spring inside the house.

“Max fucking Caulfield?” said Victoria. “What the hell do you want?”

Max was afraid her lips were frozen shut, but she managed to speak. Of course Victoria had been invited. Her and Nathan were practically brother and sister. Hardly went anywhere without each other. But Nathan wasn't one of Victoria's groupies and she wasn't his. Somehow they were equals, teaming up to rule the school.

“Get out of my way, Victoria,” said Max. “Nathan invited us.”

Victoria rolled her eyes and laughed, like that was the funniest thing she'd heard all day. She was still blocking the door, keeping Max and Warren away from the precious warmth they so desperately needed. Max could feel the heat spilling out past Victoria.

“Oh _fuck off,”_ Victoria said. “I don't know how you found this place, but I suggest you leave.”

Max snorted.

“Wish I could, but the bus already left,” she said. “Either you let us in or we freeze to death.”

Victoria started to turn away, hand on the door.

“See if I care,” she said.

She was about to go back inside, leaving Max and Warren to whatever chilly fate awaited them. Now Max was starting to believe this had all been some elaborate prank. An attempt at getting her and Warren out there just so Victoria could deny them access. But that sounded way too cruel, even for assholes like Nathan and Victoria.

“Victoria, what the hell are you doing?”

It was a voice Max didn't immediately recognize, but was instantly grateful for. She'd been about to argue, to stress that her and Warren were going to literally die if Victoria closed that door in their faces. She doubted Victoria cared, but she had to try.

A girl appeared next to Victoria. It was Stella, a fellow Blackwell student Max knew very little about. It was amazing how few friends she'd made since coming to Blackwell. Other than Warren, she hadn't really connected with anyone. But she did recognize Stella. They'd talked a few times.

“She's on the list,” said Stella. “Didn't you hear what Nathan said?”

Victoria stuttered for a minute. She was clearly furious at being essentially bossed around by someone she considered beneath her, but she couldn't deny what Stella was saying.

To Max's relief, Victoria stepped out of the way to let them pass. Lucky for her. If Max had been forced to wait another minute, she likely would have just pushed past Victoria's dumb ass and barged in. It was too cold for her to deal with Victoria's usual bullshit.

Max and Warren hauled ass into the house, relieved when the door was shut behind them. Warm at last.

As Max had expected, the house was well-heated and almost completely insulated from the cold outside. The second they stepped over the threshold, it was like entering a whole new world. The very walls seemed to emanate heat. Max practically tore off her coat. She'd been genuinely worried about dying out there.

Ignoring Victoria's icy stare, Max dropped her duffel bag and backpack. It was going to be a long ass weekend, but at least she would be warm. She turned to Stella, smiling in appreciation at her hero.

“Thanks,” she said.

Stella shrugged, returning the smile. Her and Max weren't friends. Or at the very least, not _good_ friends. Which was kind of a shame. Max thought that if her and Stella just sat down and talked, they would probably get along great. Another buddy added to Max's extremely short list of trusted colleagues at Blackwell. Maybe this weekend was a chance for Max to finally fire up a friendship with some of the Blackwell students she wanted to get to know better.

“Don't mention it,” said Stella.

Victoria stormed off, apparently too pissed about Max and Warren's “intrusion” to stay. That was fine with all of them. Max would have rather gone the whole weekend without seeing Victoria's face. Max knew the saying: “Kill them with kindness”. That didn't stop Max from smirking as Victoria fucked off somewhere.

“Everyone's in the living room,” said Stella. “Or do you want to go up to your room? There's, like, five bedrooms in this place. It's pretty cool.”

While Warren knocked the snow off his shoes, Max followed Stella to the living room. She left her duffel bag and backpack by the door.

“Who else is here?” said Max.

She didn't remember exactly who else had been invited. She just knew it was mainly students from Blackwell and maybe some of Nathan's personal friends. Max was pretty sure Sean Prescott wasn't going to be there, but she didn't really know. Nathan had made it sound like a wild “teens only” weekend, so probably no parents.

“Oh, lots of people,” said Stella.

Max didn't like that vague answer, but she didn't press the issue. In all honesty, she didn't care who was there. She just hoped this weekend was going to be as fun as Nathan made it sound in his texts. Max still wasn't sure what had even inspired him to invite all of them up there. Maybe Victoria and her cronies, but Stella and Warren? Not to mention Max Caulfield. _Weird._

Before Max could think about it too much, her and Stella reached the living room.

Max stopped in the doorway. As Stella had promised, everyone was there. Well, almost everyone. The first thing Max noticed was that Nathan wasn't there. She automatically scanned the room, trying to find his face in the crowd. _Nope._ No Nathan Prescott. But plenty of people Max instantly recognized from Blackwell.

She saw Dana, looking like a gorgeous cheerleader as usual. Wearing skin-tight jeans and a low-cut top. The ultimate power outfit. Max was never going to have the confidence to pull something like that off. But despite Dana and Max being in totally different social circles, Dana was actually nice to Max. They weren't friends, but they liked each other. Max was surprised to see Dana without Juliet or Logan.

Dana was talking to Hayden, a guy Max knew basically nothing about. She'd talked to him precisely once since coming to Blackwell. Her impression of him? Hayden seemed like a good guy. Friendly. Never gave Max shit for being introverted and geeky. Was high a lot of the time.

Max was surprised to see Daniel sitting on the couch by himself. With Dana and Hayden, it sort of made sense. Neither were part of the Blackwell elite, but they were definitely up there. Of course Nathan would invite them to his house in the woods for a party. But Daniel? Max was surprised Nathan even knew Daniel existed. It was weird seeing him just sitting there, uncomfortable and by himself. Max wondered what had convinced him to come.

Max was even more shocked at the clear absence of Victoria's goons. So Nathan had invited Daniel and Warren, but not Taylor or any of Victoria's other cronies? Weird. Or maybe Victoria had just decided to come without them. Either way, Max wasn't used to seeing Victoria Chase without some kind of back-up.

There was some guy Max didn't know. He looked like the kind of guy Max would have described as “preppy”. He definitely played badminton and had worn a sweater vest at least once in his life. One of Nathan's friends who wasn't from Blackwell? Definitely looked like him and Nathan ran in the same circles.

Kate Marsh was sitting in front of the fire. Max was pleasantly surprised to see someone she both recognized _and_ was actually pretty good friends with. Her, Kate, and Warren had been hanging out together a lot since Max came to Blackwell.

But Max was shocked to see Kate there. This wasn't her scene at all. Booze and partying? Didn't sound like a Kate thing. Then again, Kate seemed like the kind of person who wouldn't turn down a polite invitation. And even though it was Nathan Prescott of all people, the invitation _had_ been polite.

There was one other person in the room. She was standing by the bookcase, her back to everyone else. For a split second, Max thought she knew this girl. Thought she'd seen her somewhere before. But that was impossible. There were tons of students at Blackwell, but Max was pretty sure none of them had blue hair.

Then the girl turned around and Max saw her face for the first time. Their eyes met, a look of surprise passing over the girl's face.

Max took a step into the room. There was no way. It couldn't be. But even from across the room, Max knew it was. She'd seen that face thousands of times when she was a kid. It was burned into her memory. Sure, the hair was much shorter. She was taller and lankier than Max remembered. And there was something in her eyes that Max had never seen before. Some deep sadness that tugged at Max's heart strings. But that made sense. And the more Max studied that face, the more she knew.

“Chloe?” she said.

The girl stepped towards her, her arms crossed.

“Max,” she said.

And Max just knew. That voice, the way she was standing, that look on her face. Because Max was looking past the sadness in the girl's eyes, past the coldness, past those layers of disappointment and aggression carved into her face.

And underneath all of that? Chloe Price, Max Caulfield's best friend.

 


	2. Friends and Strangers

**Max**

Max's head was spinning.

This was the last place she'd expected to see Chloe. In fact, she hadn't expected to see Chloe at all. She'd always meant to contact her as soon as she was back in town, but somehow she never did. And eventually so much time passed that Max felt like it wasn't even worth it.

Sure, her and Chloe used to be best friends. _Used to._ But that had all fallen apart after the move. Max knew her parents weren't exactly thrilled with Max associating herself with the Prices—likely something to do with the Prices being in a much lower income bracket—but Max legitimately didn't expect to end up losing contact with her while she was in Seattle.

Did Chloe even want to see her again? Was it even worth trying to patch things up when Max had failed so badly? To Max, it didn't seem like it. So she ended up stopping mid-text, unsure if the number she had in her head even still belonged to Chloe.

But there was Chloe. Hair blue, different wardrobe. Staring at Max like she wasn't sure whether to hug her or punch her in the face. And honestly, Max thought she deserved both for being such a shitty friend.

Max started to say something. Probably an apology of some kind. Now that they were face to face, Max had a million things she wanted to say. She wanted to know what Chloe had been up to. She wanted to start right where they'd left off. Max didn't think she could make up for those years of silence, but she was willing to try. Was willing to put herself out there and let Chloe be furious. Because Max was sure they could get through it. They always did.

Warren appeared behind Max, startling her. He was carrying all of their stuff, that goofy grin on his face.

“Nice place,” he said. “Not bad for a Prescott, huh?”

Max rolled her eyes, giving him a half-playful shove.

“Dude, I told you I can carry my own stuff,” she said.

Warren bowed, almost dropping the duffel bags. He seemed to think Max was joking, and she partially was. But she _had_ told him—about seven times—that she was perfectly fine carrying her own stuff. But Warren kept asking anyway, and apparently he'd taken the initiative. Max was more than a little pissed at him for that, but she wasn't sure what she'd expected.

“Can't have that, my lady,” he said.

Max rolled her eyes. Warren was such a dork.

She turned back to look at Chloe, but Chloe had turned away from her. Max's heart sank. _Shit._ She'd messed up _again._ Why did she keep doing that? It was like Max had fallen into some kind of self-destructive pattern. Trying not to be a crappy friend, but ending up being one anyway. Rinse and repeat. An eternal loop of being the worst best friend in the world.

Max started to make her way across the room, but she stopped.

The guy she didn't know had walked up to Chloe and started talking to her. They seemed to be on pretty good terms. Chloe was actually nodding along to whatever he was saying, arms crossed. The guy was doing most of the talking, while Chloe listened with a neutral expression on her face.

Sort of reminded Max of those intimate conversations her and Chloe used to have in their blanket fort during sleepovers. Max had loved feeling Chloe's body so close to hers while they laughed and talked about anything under the sun.

Max sat down on the couch. This wasn't going to be easy, was it? Getting Chloe alone. Actually talking to her. Max had imagined their reunion as some big event. They'd meet at the Two Whales and start talking. They'd catch up. Max would apologize. Chloe would be laughing. They'd eat some good diner food. It sounded so magical in Max's head, like a dream she'd had a dozen times.

But this _wasn't_ Chloe. Or at least not the Chloe Max was familiar with. Max had no idea how to approach this blue-haired punk girl who wore Chloe's face. Should she just start with the apology and go from there? Or should she start exactly where they'd left off, like there'd been no time or growth in between? Maybe if Max reminded Chloe of that tearful goodbye, the old Chloe would emerge and Max could figure out where to go from there. Or maybe bringing up the past would just make this new Chloe less receptive.

“Hi Max,” said Daniel.

He flashed her a shy smile that Max returned. Neither of them knew exactly what they were doing there, surrounded by people they barely knew.

Warren dropped the bags and went over to Stella. The two of them struck up a conversation, Stella doing most of the talking. It was a good thing Brooke wasn't there. She would have probably flipped her shit at the sight of Warren getting along with another girl. All that time and Brooke still hadn't had the guts to tell Warren how she felt.

Kate came over to them and sat down. Despite being indoors, she was still wearing her scarf and hat.

“It's warm in here,” she said.

She smiled, but Max could tell Kate was uncomfortable. Max couldn't blame her. This wasn't Kate's scene at all. In fact, it wasn't Max or Daniel's scene either. This felt way too much like a Vortex Club party, minus some key elements.

“Yeah, it's nice,” said Max. “I didn't think it would be so cold outside.”

She shivered. Max could still feel the chilly air outside the house. She swore it hadn't been this cold at the bus station. The temperature seemed to have dropped at least twenty degrees while her and Warren were ascending on the cable car. Plus Max could hear the wind howling outside. The weather had gotten brutal.

“Always colder in the mountains,” said Daniel. “Lots of wilderness out here. Wild animals. Wolves.”

Max laughed nervously.

“Oh come on,” she said. “There aren't _wolves_ out here, right?”

Daniel didn't answer, just shrugged. Max took that to mean he didn't really know.

Max looked around. Where the hell was Nathan? She'd expected him to be mingling with his guests, maybe pouring drinks. This was _his_ party. Weird how he was missing from his own shindig. And where was Victoria? Were the two of them cooking up some kind of practical joke? If they were, why invite Dana and Hayden? Maybe Max and the others were worthy of an elaborate prank, but Dana and Hayden were—kind of—Nathan's friends.

“Hey, have you guys seen...?” she started.

Before she could finish, Dana grabbed everyones' attention. She'd left the room about two minutes ago, but now she was back.

“Holy shit, guys,” she said. “There's a _bar._ A fucking _bar._ Who wants to get shit-faced?”

In an instant, everyone was stampeding into the next room. Max wasn't a big drinker, but even she jumped off the couch and eagerly followed everyone to the supposed bar. Of course the house had a bar. Wouldn't have earned the Prescott Seal of Approval if there wasn't alcohol on the premises. Probably a ton of drugs too. Wouldn't be a Nathan party without everyone being high and drunk off their asses.

As Dana had promised, there was a fully stocked bar right off from the living room. Sharing space with a pool table in a room full of mounted animal heads. Normally Max would have rolled her eyes at the grisly display, but she was too focused on the sheer amount of alcohol.

Dana played bartender, grabbing bottles off the shelves and pouring drinks for everyone.

No one except for Max seemed to have noticed Nathan's absence. Or maybe she was the only one who cared. Now that she thought about it, no one there actually _liked_ Nathan. Even Dana and Hayden probably tolerated him at most. So of course everyone was more than happy to accept that he wasn't there. Most of them were probably relieved they hadn't had to deal with him while still enjoying the Prescott family wealth. Seemed like a good deal. Maybe that was why they'd come in the first place.

But even as Max accepted a drink—wasn't sure what it was—from Dana, she found herself wondering where Nathan and Victoria had wandered off to. This didn't seem like Nathan. He wouldn't flake on his own party. No, something was up.

Or was Max playing detective for no reason? For all she knew, Nathan was off getting high somewhere. Maybe he'd blazed so hard that he'd totally forgotten about his own party.

Warren sidled up beside Max, drink in hand. He'd only had one beer, but he already looked well on his way to getting shit-faced. Of course Warren was a lightweight. Max wasn't sure what else she'd expected from him.

“What's on your mind, Maximus?” he said.

Max put her glass down on a nearby table. Her and Warren were standing directly under a stuffed moose head. Max wondered if Sean Prescott himself had shot the poor animal. Hunting seemed like the ideal hobby for a Prescott.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just wondering where Nathan is.”

Warren frowned.

“Why?” he said. “I'm glad that dick isn't here.”

Max didn't know how to explain it. Sure, she didn't _want_ to see Nathan. Max was willing to go the whole weekend without seeing his face. But at the same time, something was decidedly off about him not being there. And coupled with Victoria's sudden disappearance? Max was starting to get uneasy.

She was about to tell Warren this, but she suddenly spotted Chloe again.

Chloe was standing by the bar, drinking by herself. No sign of that guy she'd been talking to earlier. And despite being halfway through what was probably her third beer, she didn't look like she was getting drunk. Chloe actually looked more alert. She was making a concentrated effort not to look at Max.

“Sorry,” said Max. “I'll be back.”

Steeling her resolve, Max shoved her drink into Warren's hand. Max wasn't letting Chloe get away this time. They were going to talk. Max didn't care if they ended up yelling at each other, if Chloe got so pissed off that she just stormed away. They needed to hash this out. Be adults about it. And if Max had to make the first move, so be it.

Muttering “Excuse me” every few seconds, Max started weaving her way across the room. Everyone was drinking and laughing, oblivious to the emotions bubbling in Max's stomach. That was fine. No one else needed to hear this conversation. This was between Max and Chloe. If anyone else decided to rope themselves in, they could fuck off.

Someone stepped in front of Max, blocking her way. It was the guy from before, the one who'd been talking to Chloe. Max tried to dodge around him, but he planted himself firmly in her way.

“Excuse me, I need to get past,” she said. “Can you move?”

The guy laughed.

“No way, Max Caulfield,” he said.

Max had no idea how this creep knew her name, but she wasn't in the mood to fight.

“Let me through,” she said. “I need to talk to Chloe.”

But the guy didn't budge. He actually took a step closer, forcing Max to back away. He was a lot taller than her, although he wasn't exactly broad-shouldered. Max couldn't have—and didn't want to—beat him up, but it wasn't like he was physically threatening. It was mostly the look on his face. This intense expression that made Max just a little scared.

“You _need_ to leave,” he said. “I don't know why you came here, but you need to leave Chloe the hell alone.”

Max backed away a little more, wondering how she was going to get around this asshole. Because he wasn't keeping her from Chloe. If she had to kick him in the balls, she was perfectly willing to do that. Max wished she had Warren to back her up, but he was too busy drinking himself stupid where she'd left him. Not that Max was eager to see a drunk Prep vs. Geek beat-down.

Chloe appeared behind the guy, looking mildly pissed off. She put her hands on his shoulders.

“Stand down, Eliot,” she said. “She's not worth it. Trust me.”

Eliot stared at Max for a minute, his expression increasing in intensity. For one horrible moment, Max legitimately thought Eliot was about to do something. She wasn't sure what that something was, only that she wouldn't like it. He looked like a guard dog being soothed by his owner.

Fortunately, Eliot decided to back off. He withdrew entirely, shooting Max a slightly threatening look as he backed away.

Once Eliot was out of earshot, Max relaxed.

“Thanks,” she said.

Chloe didn't reply, but she also didn't immediately turn and walk away.

“You have a bodyguard now?” said Max.

Chloe crossed her arms. She was trying not to look Max directly in the eye, like she was scared she might accidentally forgive her. It reminded Max of back when they were kids. Failed science experiments. Chloe pouting until Max forgave her for whatever sin she'd committed. Good times. Fun times. Max wished she could go back. Wished she hadn't messed everything up by going to Seattle and barely trying to keep their friendship intact.

“Friend of mine,” said Chloe. “Used to go to Blackwell. Always has my back. But I'm sure you wouldn't know anything about that. Right, Max?”

If only Chloe would stop being mad at her. This whole thing would have been easier if they could turn their emotions off. Be robots about this whole thing. But sadly, they were both human. Both filled with so many contradictory thoughts and emotions.

“Chloe, I am so so _so_ sorry,” said Max. “I meant to keep in contact. I really did. I just...”

Chloe laughed bitterly.

“You just _what,_ Max?” she said. “You just _what?_ You think I give a shit about your tired excuses? You think any of that matters now?”

Max tried to say something, to make it all better with a single sentence. But she couldn't think of anything to say. There was no magic word to make this all go away. Max thought it would be nice and quiet in Arcadia Bay. A place to relax and reflect. But of course this was always waiting for her. This baggage.

Chloe shook her head, unimpressed by Max's lack of response.

“You're so full of it,” she said. “You come in here acting like everything is going to be fine. Like we can just pick up where we left off. You know what? Fuck off with that shit. You know what you did, Max.”

She looked away.

“If you didn't want to be friends anymore, you should have just said so,” said Chloe. “Instead of...whatever the hell you call this. I don't know what I did to deserve this, but congratulations. You got your wish. No more Chloe Price. No more us.”

Chloe turned and headed back towards the bar.

Max stuttered like an idiot, trying to think of something to say. But again, she was at a loss. Nothing Chloe had said was technically wrong, except the part about them not being friends. Because Max _did_ want to be friends. She wanted the old Chloe back. She wanted to feel like she was a kid again. Chloe was the first—and for a very long time the only—friend Max ever had. That wasn't something Max could just walk away from. Not when she was so close.

“Dammit, Max,” she said to herself.

She needed to go take a hot bath or something. Get away from everyone. Clear her head so she could approach this from a different angle. Because Max wasn't going to just let this go. Not until she resolved this. Not until she had her Chloe back.

 

**Warren**

Warren was already feeling drunk. He'd had beer before, but nothing like this. Was this even beer? Warren wasn't sure anymore. Booze was booze.

He hadn't even intended to get drunk. Thought he'd grab one beer and call it a night. But as it turned out, Warren couldn't just have one. It wasn't like beer was delicious or anything. In fact, Warren kind of hated the taste. Didn't get how Nathan and his goons drank so much of it at their dumb parties. But Warren loved the feeling it gave him.

Warren needed all the liquid courage he could get. If he was going to make something happen this weekend, he needed to be at peak bravery.

Max had to know how he felt, right? He hadn't exactly been subtle. He'd been dropping hints for months. Yeah, there was no way Max didn't know. And she'd definitely been getting closer to him. They had fun together. He made her laugh with his geeky knowledge and he took a legitimate interest in her photos.

Warren just needed to tell her. Just look her in the eye and tell her he was in love with her. Easy enough. Well, easy enough if Warren had another three or so beers. Then maybe he could start working out exactly what he was going to say. Plus they were in the middle of nowhere in an opulent house. Definitely in the Top 5 Romantic Getaways.

He shook his head. _Ugh._ What was he even thinking? Warren didn't want to ruin his friendship with Max. He wanted things to progress naturally, if at all. He was already having a tough time navigating this whole thing.

But on the other hand, this seemed like the kind of place where something was bound to happen. And Warren thought he needed to be ready, just in case.

Warren looked around. Where _was_ Max? Back in the living room? Possibly alone? Maybe he should join her. There wasn't much to do, other than drink and watch other people drink. Although Warren did kind of want to continue his conversation with Stella.

No, Max came first. He needed to find Max. Find out why she was upset and focused on Nathan. Seriously, why did she give a shit about that guy all of a sudden? Couldn't they just enjoy this break from their ordinary lives? _Geez, Max._

Warren went out into the living room, half-empty glass in hand. As usual, cheering up Max was his top priority. If she was really stressed about this whole Nathan thing, he needed to say something. This was supposed to be fun. A vacation. Max needed to stop treating it like an investigation.

But Max wasn't in the living room. It was just Kate sitting in front of the fire. The only one not to join everyone in the bar.

“Hey Kate,” said Warren.

He tried not to sound as drunk as he felt, but failed miserably.

Kate turned her head towards him. She smiled, her face red from the heat of the fire. Despite being on her own, she looked like she was having a good time. Made sense. This was a nice house. Sure, it belonged to the Prescotts, but that didn't stop it from being nice.

“Looking for Max?” said Kate. “I think she went upstairs.”

Warren nodded. Max had been his main concern, but now he was wondering if he should keep Kate company. She seemed okay on her own, but he didn't like seeing her just sitting by herself. This wasn't Kate's type of party at all.

“You alright?” he said.

Kate stood up. She'd taken off her scarf and hat. She looked almost otherworldly, standing in front of the fireplace.

“I'm fine,” she said. “I'm just going to take a bath.”

One of Nathan's texts had mentioned something about a bathroom on the second floor. Probably just as fancy as every other room in the house.

Warren sighed. A bath sounded absolutely heavenly. But he wasn't sure about taking one in a house belonging to the Prescotts. No logical reason. It just felt weird to him. Almost as weird as sleeping in one of the five bedrooms for the weekend.

He still felt like he didn't belong. Well, technically he didn't. Unlike Max, he hadn't exactly been invited. Warren had basically invited himself when he found out Max was going. No way was he letting her journey into the Prescotts' den alone.

“Be careful, okay?” he said.

He wasn't sure what Kate had to be careful _of,_ but he felt he should warn her anyway.

Kate disappeared upstairs, in search of the promised bathroom. Warren hoped she enjoyed her nice long soak. Something for her to do while everyone else was partying.

No longer distracted from his initial quest, Warren also started towards the stairs. He needed to find Max. And if possible, Nathan. Truth be told, Warren was getting the tiniest bit weirded out by Nathan's lack of an appearance. He'd expected to catch at least a glimpse of the little weasel. But nope. Where the fuck was Nathan? Was Max right to be worried?

Maybe the beer was wearing off or something, because Warren was starting to feel uneasy. This must have been how Max had felt when she first noticed Nathan was missing. That creeping feeling of wrongness just crawling up Warren's spine. He needed to see Nathan's face. Needed to know everything was one percent okay.

Warren was about to head upstairs, but he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Just a tiny detail. Something he otherwise wouldn't have noticed, but Warren had gone into detective mode. Warren was sobering up, his eyes a lot sharper. Warren was looking for some kind of explanation hidden in plain sight.

He stepped off the bottom stair, his face filled with curiosity. Maybe there _was_ an explanation hidden in plain sight. And Warren had missed it the first time because he wasn't looking for it. But now he was starting to piece it together. Warren just hoped he was right and that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

Warren considered finding Max first, but decided against it. For all he knew, this was nothing. Better to leave her alone until he knew for sure. Until then, it was probably best that Warren worked alone. For Max's sake.


	3. Cold

**Max**

Max had been wandering around for a while, trying to find a phone.

So far, no luck. Of course her cellphone didn't work out there. No Wi-Fi either. If Max had ever wanted to know the true meaning of “isolation”, she was getting a pretty good idea. Even though the house was full of people, she felt like she was cut off from everyone and everything. It was kind of nuts.

Max returned to the empty living room. _Shit._ No way to contact the outside world. Max wasn't even sure who she wanted to call. Her parents? Would have been nice to hear their voices. Max was feeling completely alone.

Max pulled out her phone again. No bars. And she could hear the wind picking up outside. It sounded like there was going to be a storm. A big one. Max hoped it would blow over by Monday.

_Ugh._ Why did she even come here? She could have been at home, eating chocolate and watching bad movies. The Prescott house was the last place on the planet Max wanted to be. Yet there she was, frantically messing with her phone in a vain attempt to text or call someone.

She glanced at the staircase. Hadn't really explored the second or third floors. Maybe there was a phone or something up there? A radio? Places like this had radios, right? For emergencies.

Stella came into the living room. She was holding an empty bottle of booze, but she didn't look completely smashed. In fact, she looked surprisingly alert and sober. Max couldn't imagine drunk Stella. Almost sounded like an oxymoron.

“Hey Max,” Stella said. “Have you seen Warren?”

Max tucked her phone away. Warren had been the last thing on her mind during her search. She'd seen a lot of things, most of them hardly registering in her brain. This place felt like a hunting lodge. Maybe it _was_ a hunting lodge. During her exploration, Max had seen plenty of rooms filled with animal heads and other trophies, as well as photographs of the Prescotts. There had to be a reason the Prescotts had built a second house in this place. Well, other than the solitude.

“No,” she said. “He's probably upstairs.”

He'd probably passed out in one of the bedrooms. Classic Warren. Of course he couldn't handle booze of any kind.

Daniel appeared in the doorway. He was still nursing his second beer, but he already looked at least slightly plastered.

“What's going on?” he said.

Max didn't feel like explaining it to him or Stella. How the isolation was getting to her, how she was worried about the fact that Nathan hadn't appeared. The former would likely confuse them and the latter would elicit the standard “Who gives a shit?” response. Unfortunately, Max was starting to give more and more of a shit as time went on. How was everyone else so calm about it? Were they all too drunk—or in the process of getting drunk—to care?

Stella turned to Daniel, her face filled with concern. Used to Stella being calm and collected, Max was a little taken aback.

“Warren is missing,” said Stella.

Max's heart jumped. Maybe she should have stuck with Warren. Asked him to come with her. He would have agreed in a heartbeat. But Max had been too focused on the whole Chloe thing. A part of her simply wanted to get away for a while. Looking for a phone seemed like a good excuse.

“No, he's not,” said Max. “He's upstairs or something.”

Why did she sound so unsure of herself? It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. So why was Max getting that feeling again? That creeping uneasiness?

Stella shrugged, trying to look like she wasn't worried. But Max could tell Stella was upset. _Strange._ Max had no idea Stella and Warren were friends. As far as she knew, this was the first time the two of them had really talked to each other. Stella seemed to be a geek, but she liked hanging around geek girls like Brooke. Stella seemed to avoid geeky guys whenever possible, yet she'd actually talked to Warren and seemed genuinely freaked out by his absence.

“I mean, I haven't seen him in a while,” said Stella. “And the door was open...”

She looked at Daniel.

“You seen Kate?” she said.

Daniel took a minute to get his words in order. When he did manage to speak, his speech was a little slurred.

“Oh, yes,” he said. “She went upstairs? To take a bath, I think. Yes, a bath. That's what she said.”

Max was barely listening. She was thinking about what Stella had said. Warren missing. The door open. If Stella was telling the truth—and she had no reason to lie—Max was starting to get worried.

Why would the door be open? Who the hell was going outside in this hellish weather? Warren? _Why?_ Warren wasn't the type of guy to just take off. He must have known the bus wasn't coming back any time soon. But Max couldn't shake the nagging feeling that the open door and Warren's disappearance were linked. That Warren had done something stupid.

“Dammit, Warren,” she muttered to herself.

She grabbed the coat and scarf she'd thrown over the back of the couch.

“Are there any other buildings around here?” she said. “Like a fire station or something?”

Stella thought for a minute. She'd clearly done her research before coming there.

“There's an abandoned mine,” she said. “Not sure how far. And I think a fire station or a look-out post or something like that. But that's pretty far away.”

Max was already pulling on her coat. She didn't know if she was just being paranoid, but she needed to find Warren as soon as possible. There was no way he was equipped to survive out there, especially if he was slightly drunk. But if he really had marched out that door, Warren couldn't have gone far. He might have even collapsed somewhere.

Stella stepped towards Max, startled.

“What are you doing?” she said. “You can't go out there.”

Max knew that. The wind was practically screaming. It was definitely several times colder than it had been when her and Warren arrived. Max wasn't prepared to bet on her chances. But she couldn't just stay inside and hope Warren didn't freeze to death. That wasn't what friends did. And the more Max considered that Warren might not be nice and safe in the house, the more she believed it to be true.

“I'll be back,” she said. “You and Daniel search the other floors. Try to find Kate and ask if she's seen him. And also Nathan or Victoria.”

Chloe walked into the living room at that moment. Like Daniel, she looked slightly tipsy, but not completely plastered. Maybe the call of booze wasn't as strong as Max thought it was. Chloe had always had a taste for alcohol, ever since the wine incident. It seemed weird to see Chloe even partially sober at a party like this. Even the old Chloe would have been drinking herself stupid and making out with people.

“Oh, is Max running away again?” she said.

Max ignored Chloe's snide remark. She really didn't have time to argue or make amends.

Max focused on Stella and Daniel instead, trying not to notice how concerned they both were. It seemed Max's growing panic had rubbed off on them.

“If I'm not back in an hour, you guys need to come after me,” she said. “Get in contact with someone if you can.”

Chloe's bitter smile faded. For the first time since their awkward reunion, she actually looked concerned. She seemed to have picked up on the atmosphere in the room. The party vibe had completely dissipated.

“Okay, Mad Max,” she said. “What the fuck is going on? Did something happen to your boyfriend?”

Max rolled her eyes.

“He's not my _boyfriend,”_ she said. “We're friends. Good friends.”

Chloe pretended to wince.

“Ouch,” she said. “Poor guy. Hope you let him down easy.”

Ignoring Chloe once again, Max started to march out of the living room. Stella and Daniel were both staring at her, but she didn't care. If they didn't want to follow her, that was their problem. For the time being, Max was the only friend Warren had. Well, other than Kate. And maybe it was better Kate didn't know Warren was missing. Let her relax for a while.

Chloe grabbed Max's arm.

“Hey, are you crazy?” she said. “You're not going outside, Max. That's hella dumb.”

Angry, Max pulled her arm out of Chloe's grasp. _For fuck's sake._ She thought Chloe of all people would get it. Risking her life for a friend. Or maybe Chloe was just mad it wasn't _her_ Max was risking her life for? Was Chloe that petty? Max didn't know. She was still wrapping her head around this new Chloe.

“Thanks a lot, _Mom,”_ said Max. “I'm still _hella_ doing it. Warren might be in trouble. I have to find him.”

Chloe crossed her arms.

“Okay, first of all?” she said. “Never say “hella” again. Ever. And second?”

She grabbed her own coat from a nearby chair and held it out.

“Take mine,” she said. “It's warmer.”

Max stared at the coat, startled. She'd expected more hostility, maybe a pointless yelling match. Something to solidify the idea in Max's head. The idea that she just wasn't going to click with this new Chloe. That she'd missed her chance.

Instead Max was reminded of the old Chloe, the cheerful young girl who'd offered Max her mittens and scarf when it was cold outside. The girl who'd shared her umbrella when Max forgot to bring hers. The girl who always shared her snacks, who laughed when Max farted and loved watching the rain. Sleepovers and movie nights every weekend. Pirate forts. Racing each other up and down the lighthouse stairs. Chloe always winning because she was faster, then laughing and giving Max a hug when Max started to pout.

“I, uh, thanks,” said Max.

She took the coat. It certainly looked warmer. Better insulated. Max didn't know what she'd been thinking with her own coat. It was better suited for late fall or early winter than the harsher weather.

Max took off her own coat and handed it to Chloe. Chloe's coat definitely smelled like her. It carried the vague stench of cigarettes and maybe coconut shampoo. _Coconut shampoo?_ Max actually smiled. That was the exact same kind of shampoo the old Chloe had used. Some things never changed.

Chloe put on Max's coat. It was a little too big on her, but she didn't seem concerned.

“I'm coming with you,” she said.

Max zipped up Chloe's coat. She already felt a thousand times warmer. She was starting to sweat a little in the heat of the house.

“You don't have to,” she said.

Chloe grinned.

“Dude, this is the first time in _forever_ we've seen each other,” she said. “You think I want you to die before I finish chewing you out? No fucking way. You're not doing this alone, Max Power.”

Max returned the grin. She also wasn't too keen on dying before their first real conversation in years. And she definitely wasn't planning on freezing to death out there. With Warren gone—and potentially in danger—it felt nice to have someone in her corner again.

Chloe surprised Max by grabbing her arm.

“Don't, like, get lost or anything,” she said. “Stay close.”

Max smiled, attempting to ease Chloe's concern.

“Don't worry,” she said. “I'll stay _hella_ close.”

Chloe playfully punched Max's shoulder, but she looked relieved.

 

**Stella**

“Oh, come on. He's probably off making out with Max or something.”

That was what Dana had said. And Stella had believed it for all of two minutes, until she gave the situation further analysis. Yes, there was a chance Warren was with Max or passed out somewhere. But what if he _wasn't?_ That was Stella's main concern. Because she'd seen how drunk Warren was getting.

Stella wished she'd said something. Could have gotten through to Warren easily enough. Asked him to take it easy. But their conversation had been far too engaging.

Stella wasn't used to being this enraptured. But there was something about the way Warren articulated himself. And the fact that he didn't talk down to her because she knew less about geek culture. He also didn't quiz her on the stuff she did know, which was a welcome change from most of the geeky guys Stella had interacted with in the past.

She thought about Max and Warren's friendship. She wished she could connect with a guy on that level. The only times Stella had ever tried, she'd ended up doubting the integrity of her hobbies. _Ugh._ Why were most guys she'd met so fucking fragile about their geekiness? Why did they need to turn it into a competition? But Warren was actually nice to her. Stella envied Max for having gotten to him first.

She shut her eyes for a minute. Okay, so she knew the whole layout of the house. Had memorized it during the ride there. Or mostly memorized it. Stella knew the number of rooms and the basics. Despite having never been there before, she could have navigated the place with her eyes closed.

Stella wondered about her and Daniel's priority. Find Kate so she could help with their search? Or just find Warren? Or as Max had suggested, find Nathan? Stella had to admit that she felt weird about Nathan's lack of appearance. Was he even there, or was Victoria hosting? Why invite them out there if he wasn't going to show his face?

She was still puzzling over this when she heard a door open. Sounded like someone had come in through the back door. Technically none of them were supposed to be using that, but it was unlocked when they got there. Not much out there.

It was that guy Chloe Price had come with. Eliot. He entered the living room, bundled up in a puffy coat and a pair of thick snow pants. Armful of logs from the pile outside.

“What's going on?” he said.

Eliot dumped the logs next to the fireplace.

Stella eyed him curiously. Other than the fact that he'd gone to Blackwell way back when, she didn't know much about him. They hadn't talked when he was a student and Stella had barely registered his absence. Didn't know if he'd changed schools or been expelled.

She suspected he hadn't exactly been invited. Probably a plus one like Warren. Stella wondered what a guy like Eliot was doing hanging around Chloe Price. They'd sort of hung out back when Eliot went to Blackwell, but why now?

“Warren's missing,” she said. “Max and Chloe went out to find him.”

She expected Eliot to have a strong reaction to this news. He'd barely let his precious Chloe out of his sight since they got there. He was like a toddler, all but clinging to Chloe's leg from the moment they stepped foot in the house. And Chloe seemed weirdly cool about it. Or at least she played the part when Eliot was looking. If there was something going on between the two of them, Stella couldn't figure it out.

Eliot started pulling off his mittens. His neutral expression barely changed, like he was unconcerned by everything Stella had said. Stella didn't buy that for a second. She looked into his eyes and saw that he was barely holding back how pissed off he was. Eliot was scarily good at keeping his stronger emotions at bay, but they always seemed to come out in his eyes.

“Of course she is,” he said.

He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Eliot tossed his mittens onto the couch. He started struggling with his jacket, pawing clumsily at the zipper. His hands were shaking way too much, making it difficult for him to even get a grip on the thing. Stella couldn't tell what was making him angrier: the fact that Chloe was off somewhere with Max or the fact that he'd found out secondhand. His obvious drunkenness didn't seem to be helping.

“Warren's missing, huh?” he said. “Guess I'll look too.”

He sounded angry about it, like he blamed Warren for everything that was pissing him off.

Stella and Daniel slipped away while Eliot was still wrestling with his coat. They climbed the stairs to the second floor, leaving Eliot to whatever weird mood he was in. Stella was particularly glad to get away. Wanted nothing to do with whatever strange friends Chloe Price had made.

“Hey, where do you think Nathan is?” said Stella.

Daniel hiccuped.

“In Hell, I hope,” he said.

Not helpful. Also not the answer Stella was looking for. Didn't Nathan have a right to know that one of his guests had disappeared? Maybe he wouldn't have given a shit, but he _was_ the host. He needed to be aware of what was going on. Wasn't that partially why he'd invited Stella in the first place? The guy was paying her to play babysitter.

“No, seriously,” said Stella.

If Nathan was missing, she probably wasn't getting paid. And Stella absolutely wanted that money. She wouldn't have touched Nathan or his house with a ten foot pole if he hadn't offered her an extraordinary amount of cash. If he'd ditched the whole place just to avoid paying her, Stella was going to be monumentally pissed. She wasn't even in desperate need of the money or anything. It was entirely a matter of principle. Nathan promised her cash, Stella was getting that fucking cash by Monday.

Stella tried the first door in the long hallway, consulting her mental map. This should be...one of the bedrooms? Yeah, one of the bedrooms. Which meant Warren might be on the other side, sleeping away.

She shoved the door open. Unfortunately, her mental map had lied to her. This definitely wasn't a bedroom. It was a library, massive oak bookshelves stacked to the ceiling. Comfortable chairs in all the corners. Little reading nook right across from the door, complete with a table and two massive armchairs.

Stella stepped over the threshold. Why would the Prescotts even bother building this? Just a massive library in a house they probably only used a few times out of the year. Probably just because they could. The Prescotts really loved throwing their wealth around. And as pointless as it was, Stella was impressed. So many books, most of them eternally unread. The Prescotts didn't mess around when it came to interior design.

“Is that a spirit board?” said Daniel.

Stella approached the room's only table. It _was_ a spirit board. One of those old-fashioned ones, the kind you'd expect to find in a thrift store. Plus a bunch of books about spirituality and ghost-hunting. Looked like someone—Nathan?--was trying to contact the dead. Hadn't succeeded, as far as Stella could tell. If those walls had started talking to Nathan, they were silent now, save for the howling wind outside.

The thought of Nathan messing around with anything ghost-related made Stella uncomfortable. She didn't believe in all that supernatural stuff, but she did believe in the power of drugs. And given how high Nathan was at any given moment, Stella didn't think ghost-hunting should be thrown into the mix.

She nudged the planchette with her finger. _Weird._ The whole thing looked so _arranged._ The planchette was in the exact middle of the board, the books were perfectly stacked. It almost looked like a display at a museum. Had Nathan—or someone else—put this there for someone to find? If so, why? Maybe it was Nathan's idea of a party game? That fit with everything Stella knew about Nathan Prescott.

But the more Stella thought about it, the more she wondered if Nathan even wanted them there. He hadn't exactly greeted them all with open arms. He'd basically invited them all to the house, then hidden himself away somewhere. He wasn't playing host or flaunting his money around like the Nathan Prescott Stella knew from Blackwell. What exactly was the point of all this?

“Uh, Stella?”

Daniel nudged Stella to get her attention.

She turned away from the spirit board and focused on what Daniel was looking at. It took Stella a minute to see what he'd spotted. It was kind of hidden, stuffed between two books. It was glinting in the dim light of the library. That was probably how Daniel had seen it. Still wasn't very easy to spot. Stella passed over it twice before she actually saw it.

Stella went over to the bookcase, Daniel trailing behind. She gently moved the books aside to get a better look. Even this close, Stella had no idea what she was even looking at. Some kind of device? Small and kind of flat. Big blinking light on the side.

Stella pulled it out and examined it, turning it over in her hands. Whatever this thing was, it was definitely high tech. Something only the Prescotts could afford. But what was it doing in the library and what the hell was it?

She brought it closer to her face. There was something shiny and round on the side facing them. For a minute, Stella didn't know what it was. Nothing about the device in her hands made any sense. It could have been a thousand things.

But then it clicked. Stella suddenly knew exactly what this thing was. She knew why it had been shoved into the bookcase. Stella knew why it had a big blinking light on it. She knew what that shiny round thing was. It was a lens. A camera lens. Someone had planted a hidden camera in the library.

“What the _fuck?”_ said Stella.

She reflexively dropped the device. Holding it felt disgusting, although Stella wasn't quite sure why. For all she knew, it was just a security camera. But Stella suspected it was more than that. Who put a security camera in a library? Who put security cameras in a house that was basically in the middle of nowhere? Who would bother? Either the Prescotts were massively paranoid or there was something else going on.

“Is that a camera?” said Daniel.

He sounded as shocked and scared as Stella felt. None of this was normal. It had been far from normal from the start, but now it was getting insane. Daniel had sobered up quite a bit and Stella could tell he was freaking out as much as she was.

Stella headed for the door. There had to be other cameras. In the living room. The bedrooms. The bar. _Everywhere._ Stella just didn't know _why._ And honestly? She didn't give a shit. Now all she wanted to do was find Warren and get the hell out of there somehow. The idea of Nathan Prescott spying on them made her stomach churn.

“We'd better find Kate,” she said.

Daniel automatically agreed, but he frowned.

“What about Warren?” he said.

Stella thought for a minute. She wanted to believe Warren had wandered outside. That Max and Chloe had already found him and all three of them were heading back. But she didn't know. And not knowing terrified Stella.

“We find Kate, then we find Warren,” she said at last. “We need to stick together. Haven't you ever seen a horror movie?”

Her plan was simple: find Kate, find Warren, get Max and Chloe, get Dana, Hayden, and Eliot, then gather everyone in the living room so they could come up with a plan. And if they were lucky, they might find Nathan and squeeze some answers out of him.

It was worth a shot. Anything was worth a shot at that point. Stella was running out of ideas.

 

**Chloe**

“Are you sure you're okay in my coat?”

Smiling, Chloe gave Max a shaky thumbs-up.

“I'm super, Mad Max,” she said. “Keep going. Gotta find your friend.”

To her relief, Max turned away from her and kept going. This gave Chloe the chance to wrap her arms around herself as she gave another violent shudder. She was not, in fact, super. Chloe was fucking freezing in Max's sorry excuse for a winter coat. What was Max even thinking? The thing might as well have been made of fucking paper. No goddamn insulation, just a bunch of nooks and crannies for the frigid air to creep into. At least Chloe still had her thick pants and scarf.

She stared at the back of Max's head as they walked. Max had changed so little since the last time they talked. For one thing, Max had ditched that dorky ponytail she'd been rocking for as long as Chloe remembered. Nice hairstyle. Looked good on her. Very _Max._

“So where the fuck are we going?” said Chloe. “Because we look hella lost to me.”

She was frustrated. Not about them probably going in circles, although that was pretty bad in itself. No, what pissed her off was that Max was being so _normal._ Chloe had expected—and wanted—a fight. But so far Max had been pretty much one hundred percent non-confrontational. This was such _bullshit._

How could Max pretend everything was fine? Chloe didn't get it. She thought all those years had actually meant something to Max, that they'd counted for something in the long run. Apparently not. Apparently Chloe had been living a lie.

She snorted. But of course she had. Explained why everyone she gave a shit about left her. Chloe's whole life was basically one long joke. Every time she cared about someone, they just up and left her. It was a never-ending cycle. And Chloe was getting tired of caring. Because it was never her fault, yet it kept happening. A curse. Chloe Price's life was a curse.

Max took a minute to answer Chloe's question. She likely hadn't known herself until Chloe asked.

“The mine,” she said.

Chloe arched her eyebrow, although Max couldn't see it.

“You think your boy toy went to the mine?” she said.

Max groaned.

“He's not my...,” she started.

She stopped herself.

“Do you have a better idea?” she said.

Chloe actually considered. Did she? Well, no, not at all. She'd been following Max because Max seemed to at least slightly know where they were going. But of course Max was just as clueless as she was. Not very comforting.

“The fire tower?” said Chloe.

Second thing Stella mentioned, so it made sense for Chloe to go with that. No idea what Warren would be doing at the fire tower though, let alone if he would have made it there. Maybe he was calling for help? Chloe didn't even know this Warren guy, just that Max seemed unreasonably into him. Apparently he was her new best friend. _Ugh._ And Chloe did genuinely care if Warren was okay, but she really wished Max had chosen a better replacement.

“Okay, great, okay,” said Max. “Where is that?”

It sounded easy enough to spot, but neither of them could see anything.

Chloe looked around. No way was she going to admit this, but she was getting a little scared. This place was hella more isolated than she'd given it credit for. Just wilderness all around. Maybe some abandoned buildings nearby, but mostly wilderness. Even the reassurance of a fire tower wasn't enough.

“We should go back,” said Chloe.

She kept her voice steady, hiding the fear creeping into her brain. One of them needed to put on a brave face to keep the other from losing it.

Max pressed her hands against the sides of her head. She shook her head in firm disagreement.

“We can't,” she said. “We have to find him, Chloe. We have to. _We have to.”_

She sounded on the verge of tears. Chloe was startled. She'd never heard Max sound so distressed. And sure, this was a bad situation for all of them. One guy missing. A guy Max was apparently very close to, Chloe reluctantly reminded herself. But for Max to completely break down like this? This wasn't the Max Caulfield Chloe knew. Not the Max who could keep it together better than Chloe ever had.

Chloe grabbed Max's shoulders.

“Hey, stop it,” she said. “I'm sure he's fine. You know where he is? He's probably back at the house, all snug and warm, while we're freezing our dicks off out here. Okay?”

Max raised her head and looked into Chloe's eyes. She was barely holding back tears as she spoke.

“This is my fault,” said Max. “He wouldn't have come if I didn't want to go. If something happens to him, it's all on me. His parents are going to blame me.”

Tightening her grip on Max's shoulders, Chloe looked directly into Max's eyes.

“If they do, they're fucking idiots,” she said. “You didn't make him come out here. He did that all by himself. I'm not letting you beat yourself up over this.”

But Max shook her head, refusing to believe anything Chloe was saying. Chloe didn't know how to convince her. Because above all else, Chloe didn't want Max to have that kind of guilt on her shoulders. No one deserved that. Chloe had seen it happen with Joyce after William died.

“It's...it's not your fault, okay?” said Chloe. “It's _not._ I...”

She swallowed hard. Chloe tried to find all the words she'd never said to her mother. She'd seen what her mother was going through, but Chloe didn't want to help. And maybe she got a pass, because she was a dumb teenager dealing with too much of her own shit. Because sometimes—even now—Chloe blamed her mother for what had happened. It was unfair and she knew it, but she couldn't help herself.

“I promise you that this isn't your fault,” said Chloe. “It's...it's going to be okay. Whatever happens, it'll be fine.”

She wrapped her arms around Max and pulled her close, pressing Max's face into the front of her coat.

“I've got you,” she said. “It'll be fine.”

Max pulled away. There were tears running down her face, but she didn't look nearly as upset. She wiped the tears away, forcing a smile. Chloe didn't remember the last time she'd seen Max actually cry. Was it the day after the car accident? Chloe remembered them having a big old sobbing session in her bedroom.

“Thanks, girlfriend,” said Max.

She glanced up at the sky.

“I think we should head back,” she said. “Warren's probably not out here. I don't know what I was even thinking. Stupid Max.”

Chloe grinned.

“Hey, you were worried,” she said. “I would be too. I'd...I don't know what I'd do if you went missing.”

Max returned the grin.

“Promise not to,” she said. “At least not right now.”

She started heading back the way they'd come. They hadn't actually gone very far. With the weather getting harsher, they'd had to keep pausing every few minutes. They could barely see anything in the escalating storm around them. It just wasn't a good night to be out.

Chloe followed. She was still wondering about the mystery of the open front door, but she decided Max was right. She'd suspected it all along, yet she'd followed Max out into the cold. Surely that said something about how Chloe felt, although she wasn't sure what. Maybe that Chloe was a complete idiot?

Chloe sighed. It wasn't fair. Wasn't fair that they could have these soft moments, then Chloe would go right back to resenting Max for abandoning her. She wished it could be like that all the time. Just soft and cuddly and friendly, like when they were friends. But there was always that gap. The radio silence that had left Chloe feeling like trash.

She meant what she said. Chloe didn't know what she'd do if Max went missing. Because a part of her didn't feel like she could survive without Max Caulfield in her life. Chloe had just barely survived the first time around.

Chloe was afraid. Scared of what might happen to her if Max were to leave again. Scared knowing she had no control over it. Scared knowing the storm inside her head was getting just as bad as the storm outside.


	4. Relaxation

 

**Kate**

Kate was huddled in the giant bathtub, surrounded by pink bubbles.

She'd found a bottle of expensive bubble bath in the cabinet, along with several bath bombs and pretty much every hygiene product known to mankind. Kate could have emptied the cabinet and given herself a full spa day. But she felt weird even taking a bath in the first place, let alone touching any of the Prescotts' expensive shampoo and manicure kits.

She sank down a little in the bath, letting the bubbles encapsulate her further. Why had she even come there? Kate's parents had been very against the whole thing. They said a bunch of teenagers in the middle of a remote place was bound to end in “questionable activities”. Kate had won them over by assuring them that she wouldn't drink or do anything “unsavory”. Even with this promise, they'd been very reluctant. Kate had to remind them that she was technically an adult and therefore allowed to make her own decisions.

But why had she been so desperate to come? This felt like a Vortex Club party, except the guests were all wrong. Kate could no longer hear them downstairs, but she knew they were partying, drinking, probably making out or even having sex. And she was upstairs, soaking in the bath and trying her best not to think about the sinful stuff going down a floor below.

Kate shifted uncomfortably in the water. Had she only accepted the invitation because of Max and Warren? Or maybe it was politeness that had driven her to do it? Kate always had trouble saying “no” to people. Even people like Nathan Prescott. And she did believe there was good in everyone. Kate thought Nathan inviting her there at least somewhat proved that.

She wished Nathan had made an appearance. She wanted to thank him for inviting her, even if Kate wasn't having a particularly good time. But the bath was pretty nice, right? The warm water felt amazing on her skin.

Kate leaned back and closed her eyes. Now that she thought about it, the decision to come hadn't been hers alone. Someone else had weighed in, giving her his honest opinion. He'd encouraged her to go. He said it would be good for her. And given how relaxed she felt, Kate was starting to agree.

Kate opened her eyes, frowning. She could have sworn she heard something. A muffled creaking noise spilling out from the wall. Was it just the house settling? Must have been. Kate couldn't think of anything else it could be.

Despite the warm water, Kate shivered. She didn't like being alone in this place. It was way too quiet. Couldn't even hear her friends downstairs. Just the vastness of this bathroom was intimidating to her. The bath itself was small, but the room was massive.

No longer enjoying her soak, Kate decided it was about time she joined the others. Drunk or not, they were still her friends. Well, sort of. She wasn't sure Dana or Hayden even knew her name. But that was alright. This seemed like the perfect opportunity to get better acquainted.

Kate stepped out of the tub, passing a hand over her chest as she did so. Why did she feel so _exposed?_ The door was closed and locked, so there was no danger of someone bursting in on her. But as she exited the tub, Kate still felt watched and vulnerable.

She quickly grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself. Even covered, Kate continued to feel exposed. She was suddenly very conscious of her bare legs and arms. She'd never before realized how vulnerable she was moments after leaving the tub. Kate wasn't sure what to do about it.

The creaking was getting louder. Logically, Kate knew that it was the wind outside. Howling and vibrating through the eaves or something like that, making those creepy sounds. But Kate couldn't shake the entirely irrational feeling that it wasn't just the wind. She'd been in windy places before. This felt like something less benign, less explainable and innocent.

Yet if Kate had brought up her concerns to the others, they likely would have laughed it off. Kate knew what they thought of her. Even Max and Warren treated her like a child sometimes. They thought her upbringing had softened her, turned her into someone who couldn't handle the trials and tribulations of adulthood. But they were wrong and Kate never knew how to correct them.

She grabbed her change of clothes from where she'd left it. Normally Kate wouldn't have left the bathroom without changing, but she desperately needed to be out of this place. Needed to get to her room, where it was safe.

Her hand shaking, Kate grabbed at the doorknob. It took her three tries to turn it. Her hand—wet and quivering—kept slipping off. When Kate finally managed to open the door, she burst out into the hallway as if she was being chased. There was an almost primal burst of relief in her chest as she exited the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

Almost breathless, Kate leaned against the shut bathroom door. _Finally. Safe._ Kate clutched the clothes to her chest, letting out a small laugh. Her heartbeat was slowing down and she was certain everything was going to be fine now. Kate just had to make a solemn vow to stay away from that bathroom for the whole weekend. Easy enough. She could stand not bathing until Monday.

Kate started to laugh again, but she felt a cold gloved hand clamp down on her bare shoulder. An involuntary shudder rippled through her, a reaction to the unexpected touch of cold leather against wet skin.

She started to turn her head, to see who'd grabbed her, a scream building up in her throat. But before Kate could look, she felt something sharp against the side of her neck.  A needle.  Someone had jabbed her with a needle.

Kate could feel her senses blurring.  She tried to struggle against the sudden onslaught of tiredness, but her brain was already turning fuzzy. Kate didn't even register the gloved hand slipping off her shoulder or her body collapsing.

But Kate never hit the ground. A pair of arms caught her before she could reach the carpet.

As the hallway faded before her, Kate heard what sounded like a voice speaking her name. But she couldn't be sure. It was bleeding together too fast for her to hold onto.

And then, in what felt like an instant, Kate had slipped into unconsciousness.

 

 

**Max**

Max threw her coat onto the back of the couch.

She was glad to be back in this warm house. It seemed like a miracle that she'd actually managed to lead Chloe back. She had no idea where she'd been going. Mostly in circles, but somehow Max had actually found her way back. Max thought she deserved at least a little thanks for her efforts.

Instead she got Chloe grumbling at her about the cold, even though they were indoors. _Great._

“Almost froze my balls off, dude,” said Chloe.

Max rolled her eyes. She didn't get why Chloe waited to complain. Did she think it was funny? Because it was kind of adorable. Not hilarious, but just a little bit cute. This was another thing Max remembered, another remnant of the old Chloe that had stuck around.

“You can take off my coat now,” she said.

Chloe wrapped her arms around herself and smirked.

“No way, man,” she said. “I'm keeping it. It's mine now.”

Max laughed.

“No way,” said Max. “Give it back. That was a birthday present.”

Chloe backed away, shaking her head and grinning.

“Mine now,” she said. “Property of Chloe Price.”

Max shook her head, rolling her eyes. Chloe was such a massive dork. And honestly, Max didn't care if Chloe kept the coat. Sure, it had been a birthday present. But Max had missed so many of Chloe's birthdays. Seemed like a fair trade. And it wasn't a particularly nice coat anyway. Way too thin and kind of ugly. If Chloe wanted it in her wardrobe, that was fine.

Max picked up her own coat from the couch. She wanted to hang it up somewhere, but she hadn't seen a coat rack or anything like that. Maybe the closet? Max wasn't a rebel at heart. She still made her bed every day, cleaned up after herself, and tried to keep her room neat. If her living space was supposed to be a reflection of her inner self, Max was perfectly fine with being boring.

Chloe plopped down on the couch, Max's coat—now hers—unzipped. She put her feet up on the coffee table. Unlike Max, she apparently didn't give a shit about respecting the Prescott estate.

What had brought her there in the first place? Chloe didn't even go to Blackwell, at least not anymore. And Max doubted Chloe and Nathan had some secret friendship going on. Max just couldn't figure Chloe out anymore. First Eliot, now apparently she was kind of pals with Nathan.

“So what's next, Mad Max?” she said. “We gonna fuck up Nathan's shit?”

Max sighed.

“Chloe, don't call me... _Oh.”_

She stopped, arm half-extended. She'd opened the door expecting it to be a closet. It was tucked into the corner like one, sort of hidden away from everything else. Max almost didn't see it.

But to her shock, it wasn't a tiny area full of coats. It was a whole other room. Not a massive one, but much bigger than a closet. It seemed to be a study area of some kind. A desk, some armchairs, a few bookshelves, a coffee table. All in this medium-sized room.

Chloe hopped off the couch and came over to get a better look.

“Nice,” she said. “Secret villain lair.”

Max peered through the narrow doorway. Only one person could fit through at a time.

“Or just where Sean Prescott likes to drink and sign contracts,” she said.

She had to remember that this wasn't _Nathan's_ house This place was owned and primarily used by Nathan's sleazy dad. Max wondered what the guy did up there. Rich guy stuff? Just throwing money around and drinking expensive liquor?

Max couldn't imagine Sean Prescott coming up there to relax and bathe in his own wealth. She'd never met him, but she'd seen enough pictures. There was something horribly off about that guy. Something so prominent that it even showed up in photographs.

“Come on, Max,” said Chloe.

Unexpectedly, she grabbed Max's shoulders and shoved her inside the room. Max stumbled inside, startled by the sudden forward momentum. She cried out as she was forced over the threshold by the force of Chloe's shove.

“Geez, Chloe,” she said.

Chloe looked genuinely sympathetic. She entered the room after Max, a lot less hesitant.

“Sorry,” said Chloe.

They weren't letting anything just hang there, Max noticed. Neither of them were going out of their way to create stuff to get mad about. But they also weren't ignoring what their relationship had become.

They could both feel the gap every time they talked. It seemed to be growing, even though they were finally together again. That insurmountable distance between two people who'd stopped growing up together. Max resented the way it crept into every word they spoke, but how could she fill that gap? How could she move forward when all she could think about was those years away?

There was a kind of rebellious thrill running through Max's head. She liked exploring this place. Loved getting a glimpse of the Prescotts' secret lives. Although so far, it hadn't been very interesting. She'd expected literal skeletons in those closets. So far all Max had found was Sean Prescott's perfectly normal study. No creepy room full of newspaper clippings or a conspiracy board.

Max headed over to the desk. It was one of those big wooden things. Very expensive and very old. Max wondered how many generations of Prescotts had sat at that desk.

Chloe stepped fully into the room, shutting the door behind them.

Max wrinkled her nose. Was that _cinnamon?_ Just a light aroma that reminded her of apple pie. And not coming from the desk. No, the desk smelled like old wood and cigarettes. In fact, it reeked of the latter. Max also picked up subtle hints of strong booze as she placed her hand on it.

“What the _fuck?”_

Chloe's outburst made Max jump. She withdrew her hand and whirled around, half-expecting to see Nathan. After all, they were trespassing in a sacred sanctum of the Prescotts. It would have made sense for Nathan to just show up, probably with his trademark frown and two burly security guards.

There was a little table right near the door. It was kind of shoved into the corner, practically invisible to anyone looking directly into the room. No wonder Max and Chloe had missed it. It appeared to have been placed there on purpose for whatever reason. It also seemed to be where the cinnamon-y smell was coming from.

Max hurried over. She wasn't sure what she expected. A phone? An actual phone capable of calling out? That's really what Max wanted, although she doubted that's what Chloe had found. Then again, even if she had, who was Max going to call? The cops? Not like they could be up there in twenty minutes. This place was so cut off that Max was sure no one could reach them.

It took Max a minute to realize what she was looking at it. It took her a little longer to notice that Chloe had gone completely still.

The table was packed with stuff that made no sense at a glance. But the more Max looked, the more she understood what she was seeing. There was a photograph of a girl Max recognized, a spirit board, a scented candle, and what looked like a few strands of hair in a small bowl. It almost looked like a memorial of some kind. Something personal created to honor the dead. And maybe it kind of was, but Max saw it as something entirely different. This was a shrine.

Chloe spoke, her voice strained like she was about to cry.

“Rachel,” she whispered.

Max stared at the framed photograph. Yeah, _that_ was her name. Rachel Amber. That girl who went missing last year. Max had read all about it in Blackwell's one and only student newspaper, courtesy of star reporter Juliet. A series of articles had covered the whole thing, from Rachel's initial disappearance to the police investigation. Max hadn't been there when it happened, but she could sense the unease and sadness on campus even a whole year afterward.

But it was more than that. Because after months of searching, Rachel Amber had been found. Her body had been discovered at a local junkyard. Cause of death wasn't reported, but pretty much the entire campus suspected it was drugs. As Juliet put it, “Rachel was into some hardcore shit”. Max had no idea if that was true or not, but her heart ached for the students still mourning Rachel's passing.

Maybe they would have gotten over it by now under different circumstances, but Rachel's murderer still hadn't been found. And even though plenty of fingers had been pointed, the cops hadn't managed to find an actual lead. And they'd definitely looked. Public outcry—Rachel's dad was apparently of very high standing—demanded it.

“What the hell?” Max said.

She knew Nathan had been _something_ with Rachel. Friends? Maybe more? Max didn't know and she hadn't really asked. She just knew he was in the theater club with her or something. And he'd seemed—according to Juliet—pretty messed up after Rachel disappeared. More messed up than usual.

Just looking at that shrine was making Max feel sick. She knew Nathan was a little messed up, but _geez._ This was crossing a line. And what was with the spirit board? Had he been trying to contact her ghost or something?

Chloe backed away from the table. She looked like she was about to pass out, her face frozen in an expression of utter shock and disgust.

Max grabbed Chloe's shoulder. She had no idea what any of this meant, only that she was officially beyond freaked out. Max was no psychologist, but was was willing to bet Nathan was seriously messed up. Making a shrine to a dead girl he supposedly hadn't even known that well?

Max was starting to rethink her position. She thought Nathan was disturbed, probably in need of an intervention from someone who actually gave a shit about his mental health. Someone he'd listen to. But now? Max was starting to wonder if Nathan was legitimately nuts. Max wished she'd listened to her gut, or at least applied some extra common sense before deciding to come there. All this was making her even more worried about Warren.

“Let's get out of here,” she said.

Chloe shrugged off Max's hand. She was shaking, but not from the cold. It was remarkably warm in that small study.

“Why does he have this stuff?” she said.

She sounded furious and slightly scared. The first time Max had heard real genuine fear in Chloe's voice.

“Because he's a sick freak,” said Max. “Come on. We should go. We have to find Warren.”

Chloe spun around to face Max.

“Who the fuck cares about your goddamn boyfriend?” she said.

She stormed out of the study without another word. Even though she sounded angry, Max could hear that tell-tale fear in Chloe's voice. Chloe was scared. No, not just scared. _Terrified._ And she wasn't doing a good job of hiding it.

Max followed Chloe, slamming the door behind them. Didn't want anyone to know they'd been in there. If Max could, she would have erased what she'd seen from her memory. The photograph. The lock of hair. The spirit board. It was too bizarre to be real.

She grabbed Chloe's arm. The dam had finally burst. After hours of holding back, Max felt the anger surging in her throat. She didn't want to be angry. She wanted to feel sorry for Chloe, to sympathize and understand. But Max couldn't help it. Because this _wasn't Chloe._ This was some girl who wore Chloe's face. And sometimes if Max squinted, she could have sworn she was looking at someone else.

“ _I_ care,” she said. “I care about Warren because he's my friend. I'm sure if you knew him, you'd care too.”

Chloe laughed.

“Oh, I get it,” she said. “You'll bend over backwards for some guy you're fucking, but you won't call your best friend for over three years.”

Max rubbed her forehead. She was trying to keep her temper, but it was nearly impossible. A part of her _needed_ to be angry. Needed to focus on anything other than Nathan or Warren.

“Holy shit, Chloe,” she said. “Will you get off that? He's not my boyfriend. Why are you being like this? I said I was sorry.”

Chloe crossed her arms and turned away.

“No you didn't,” she said.

Max opened her mouth to object, but she stopped. _Oh._ She actually hadn't apologized. Hadn't even considered it. Because Max was sure Chloe understood. She had to, right? Chloe had to know that Max hadn't done it on purpose, that she was filled with endless guilt over those wasted years. _Right?_

Chloe sighed.

“You know, Rachel was a much better friend than you were,” she said. “And she fucking died on me.”

Something clicked in Max's head, although she wasn't sure what.

“You were friends with Rachel Amber?” she said.

Chloe ran a hand through her hair. Even though she was facing away, Max was starting to see some remnants of the old Chloe. Some fragment of the old Chloe bleeding through, like an afterimage. Take away the blue hair and Max could almost see it. That girl who laughed and loved science experiments.

“Yes, Max,” said Chloe. “Believe it or not, the notorious Rachel Amber actually decided to hook up with my dumb ass. And unlike you, she was going to stick around. I know she was.”

She let out a soft sigh.

“And we were more than friends,” she said. “Much more.”

Max stared in confusion for a minute, then she suddenly understood.

“Oh,” she said. “The two of you...?”

Chloe walked over to the couch, her back still to Max.

“There was no “two of us”,” she said. “Rachel was a lone wolf. She didn't need me. Rachel didn't need anyone.”

She sounded almost reverent, like she was talking about a goddess. And Max couldn't blame her. Rachel had been beautiful. Even Max found herself getting lost in those gorgeous eyes and that photographed smile. Max would have loved to photograph Rachel, but she doubted someone like Rachel Amber would have given her the time of day.

Then again, Rachel had obviously seen something in Chloe Price of all people. Max couldn't tell what had been going on in Rachel's head when she was alive.

“But she wanted you,” said Max.

She had no idea if this was true or not, but it seemed like the right thing to say. Max's anger had cooled. She wanted them to move on, for this to just be another chapter in their increasingly complicated relationship. Max wanted peace. If not for their sake, for the sake of Max's missing friend.

“Yeah, well...,” said Chloe.

She shrugged, like she didn't care. But as far as Max knew, there were only two other people in Chloe's life who'd meant the universe to her: William and, well, Max. Back when they were kids, Chloe's dad and Max were her whole world. Even Joyce couldn't compete with the dynamic triad. But somewhere along the way, Chloe's heroic triad had turned into a lonely solo act.

Chloe shook her head.

“I need a drink,” she said.

Max followed Chloe into the bar. Truth be told? Max could have gone for some booze. She wanted to keep her head clear, but she also wanted to suppress that slowly growing sense of panic.

She felt so helpless. There was so little Max—or anyone for that matter—could do about Warren's disappearance. And of course there was the Rachel shrine, plus Victoria and Nathan's absence. Max didn't know how to even begin arranging it all in her head. In parts, it was a mess. And if she tried to puzzle it out, it ran together like paint on a canvas.

Dana was nowhere in sight. She must have stumbled off somewhere to puke up all the expensive booze she'd been inhaling. Or maybe she was blazing it up somewhere. In either case, Max needed to get Dana—and everyone else—together. They needed to have a serious talk about the messed up shit Max and Chloe had found, plus Warren missing.

Hayden was lying on his side on the floor. Given his awkward position, he must have drunk herself stupid. Max didn't know if that was a Vortex Club thing or a Hayden thing. Or maybe it was a Blackwell thing. Everyone needed some chemical assistance to get through a single day in that place.

Max squatted down next to Hayden and touched his arm. As funny as it was, Max needed Hayden awake. It was plan time and she needed all the brains she could get.

She frowned. Was it just her or was there something _off_ about Hayden? Max couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about this was rubbing her the wrong way. Maybe it had something to do with the awkward positioning of Hayden's legs. They were sort of splayed at weird angles. But that wasn't too alarming, right? Hayden _was_ drunk after all.

“Hayden?” said Max.

She gently pulled on Hayden's arm, easing him onto his back.

“ _No!”_

Chloe jumped and dropped the bottle of booze in her hand. She whirled around, tearing her attention away from the bottles of alcohol behind the bar.

Max was standing up now, both hands over her mouth. She was staring down at Hayden, her eyes burning with impending tears. Max's whole body was shaking, like she was about to fall over. The color had almost completely drained from her face.

In an instant, Chloe was at Max's side. She grabbed Max's shoulder and shook her, trying to draw her out of it.

“Hey, snap out of it,” she said.

She dropped her gaze to Hayden, trying to figure what the hell had scared Max so badly. It didn't take Chloe long to realize the reason for Max's outburst.

Hayden had been facing away from them. It wasn't until Max eased Hayden onto his back that she got a good look at Hayden's face. Saw what was really going on. And that's when Max started freaking out.

Max almost thought it was an accident. She thought Hayden had fallen, maybe hit his head on something in a drunken stupor. That bruise across Hayden's temple seemed to suggest something unintentional, something horrific but ultimately blameless. But as Max's eyes traveled across Hayden's still body, she realized. Her heart nearly stopped, but Max was able to comprehend what she was seeing.

The dark gash—deep and deliberate—that stuck out on Hayden's neck. This wasn't an accident. Hayden had been murdered.


	5. Lonely Places

**Chloe**

The atmosphere in the living room was decidedly grim.

Daniel was sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. Chloe couldn't see his face, but she had a pretty good idea of how he felt. Shitty. Scared. Chloe was no different, but she was putting on a brave face. Someone had to be calm, had to keep their wits while everyone else was freaking out. Chloe couldn't believe it was her.

She barely knew Hayden. Had talked to him maybe twice before getting kicked out of Blackwell. And only because Hayden and Rachel were both in the drama club. Chloe's impression? Hayden was a cool guy. For someone like him to die like this? For him to die in a _place_ like this? It wasn't fucking fair.

Dana was still missing, but no one was talking about that.

Chloe winced. She couldn't believe they'd left Hayden's body in there. None of them wanted to touch him, like they thought getting stabbed was contagious. Chloe would have pointed out how chicken shit they all were, but Chloe was in the same boat.

What were they supposed to do? Put Hayden on a tarp or something? Carry him upstairs and put him in one of the bedrooms? Chloe wasn't an expert on dead body etiquette. That was usually a police matter. Except there was no way the cops would be coming up there, at least not for a while. So it was up to a bunch of dumb teenagers to figure out how to handle this.

Max was pacing. Stella had offered to get her a glass of water, but Max had declined. She was in her own little world, walking back and forth behind the couch and muttering to herself.

Eliot was standing beside Chloe. He wasn't saying anything. Kept trying to touch her shoulder to comfort her, but she kept shrugging it off. Chloe wasn't really in the mood for Eliot's sympathy. He couldn't possibly understand. He hadn't just come across Hayden's body. There was no way he knew what Chloe was going through.

Chloe spoke up. She was the first person to actually say something in about thirty minutes. No one wanted to be the first to speak. Once the news was out there and everyone was gathered, there wasn't much to say. Nothing except maybe how sorry they all were, how they all wished they'd stayed home. How they all knew that anything associated with the Prescotts was bad news.

“Guess you're in luck, Mad Max,” said Chloe. “You can get all deductive.”

Max stopped in her tracks. She whirled to face Chloe, her face filled with anger and surprise.

“This isn't a fucking joke,” she said.

Everyone was staring at Chloe like she was the bad guy. Even Eliot turned to look at her, clearly surprised by her callous attitude.

Chloe held up her hands as if to shield herself from the looks they were giving her. She really hadn't meant it to come out that way. But of course Chloe wasn't particularly skilled at thinking before she spoke. She just wanted to alleviate the tension. But that wasn't going to happen. Nothing Chloe said could have made this any easier to swallow. And it was a little too soon to start cracking jokes.

Stella had thrown her coat over the back of the couch when she came in. Now she grabbed it and started to pull it on, her expression somber.

“I'm going to get help,” she said.

Daniel raised his head. He seemed to have been crying this whole time, his eyes red and puffy. Chloe couldn't blame him.

“Help?” he said. “There's no help.”

But Stella shook her head, not accepting that.

“If I can get to the fire tower, I can call for help,” she said. “Someone can come get us.”

She sounded very sure of herself, but Chloe saw the doubt in Stella's eyes. Even Chloe knew that was kind of a long shot. And even if Stella did manage to call for help, when exactly was that help supposed to come? Tomorrow? Chloe didn't want to spend the night in a house with a dead body. And definitely not the whole weekend.

“You are _not_ going out in that storm,” said Daniel. “You'll die.”

Everyone was silent for a second, listening to the howling wind. With how cozy and bright the cabin was, it was easy to forget about the brutal weather outside. It seemed to be getting worse by the minute. It sounded like a frosty nightmare.

“I'll be fine,” said Stella. “It's not that far away.”

Daniel jumped up.

“I'm going with you,” he said.

Eliot stepped forward, like he was going to volunteer to be Stella's third-in-command. But he stopped, glancing at Chloe like he'd suddenly remembered she was there. Chloe wished he'd just go with Stella and Daniel, but of course that wasn't going to happen. Eliot had been glued to her since they arrived—and way before that—and it was getting on Chloe's nerves. Since when had Eliot been this fucking clingy?

Max looked around.

“Hey, where's Kate?” said Max.

Chloe looked around too, frowning. _Seriously?_ That was three missing people: Kate, Warren, and Dana. Was the house _eating_ people? Sure, it was big, but _three people_ in the span of a few hours? Or maybe the Prescotts were cursed. That would have been fine with Chloe, had it not been for the innocent Blackwell students being unfairly effected.

“Drama queen is gone too,” said Chloe.

Max rubbed her temples. Chloe hated to see Max so scared and frustrated. It made Chloe feel even more hopeless.

“Okay, we need to find them,” said Max. “Daniel, you should go with Stella. Find the fire station. Get us some help.”

She turned to Eliot.

“You don't mind searching the house alone, right?” she said. “Me and Chloe will take the upstairs, you search the downstairs?”

Eliot looked slightly pissed off by the idea, but then he saw the look on Chloe's face. She'd been making it very clear that she wanted him out of her hair. And to Chloe's relief, the guy seemed to finally take the hint.

“Sure,” he said. “I'll yell if I see anything. Or if someone tries to murder me.”

Max looked uncertain, like she'd realized an obvious flaw in her big plan.

“Are you sure you'll be okay alone?” she said. “You can come with me and Chloe if...”

But Eliot shook his head.

“I'll be fine,” he said. “I can take care of myself.”

Splitting up sounded like a surefire way to get someone killed, but Chloe didn't say anything. What else were they supposed to do? They only had so many hands to spare. If only Nathan had invited more people.

_Nathan._ Chloe clenched her fists. Where the hell was that fucker? Chloe wanted to have a word with him. A very brief word ending in a kick to the nuts. She had no idea what was going on, but she did know that Nathan was messed up. Messed up and obsessed with Rachel. That was enough to put him on Chloe's hit list.

Why had he even invited her in the first place? Did Nathan have a death wish? Or was he more naive than Chloe had expected?

Chloe was glad she hadn't come unprepared. There were things Nathan didn't know about her. Things Max didn't know. But that was fine. Chloe wasn't planning on keeping them a secret for much longer.

 

**Dana**

The sharp smell of chemicals brought Dana back to her senses pretty quickly.

_Ugh._ How much did she drink? The whole bar? Dana definitely felt like it. Headache pounding at the base of her skull. Vision fuzzy. Trying to focus, trying to get her senses back in order. But every time she thought she had a clear picture, Dana's head burst into static and it slipped away.

_Smell. Get away._

Letting her base instincts take over, Dana shuffled away from the strong aroma of chemicals. Distancing herself from the overwhelming stench helped clear her head, but it still wasn't enough. That booze was really taking a toll on her. For a moment, Dana had no idea where she was. Only that it was dark and she apparently didn't have a flashlight.

_Prescott._

The name burst into Dana's head. She wasn't sure where it came from. But it slid perfectly into place, unlocking a key memory Dana could use to gather himself. She desperately clung to that name, aligning it with everything else so she could make sense of the mess in her brain.

Nathan Prescott. She was at Nathan's Prescott's house in the middle of nowhere. Storm raging outside. But this wasn't a bedroom or the bar Dana vaguely remembered. _Shit._ If only she could grab onto things a little better. If only her head would stop hurting.

Dana touched the back of her head. _Oh fuck._ That wasn't the alcohol. Or maybe some of it was. Dana wasn't a doctor. But if she had to guess, the big lump on the back of her head was probably the cause of Dana's throbbing headache. The alcohol was just making it a billion times worse.

So someone had hit her and tossed her...somewhere. That didn't sound good. In fact, that sounded nightmarish. Dana still couldn't see shit and her headache had only slightly gone away.

She managed to get to her feet, even with nothing to grab onto. The sudden movement sent a wave of nausea through her, but Dana was able to stay upright. She felt around her, trying to find a wall or a table or something. She was also doing her best to avoid wherever that chemical stench was coming from.

Finally Dana found what felt like a light switch. Excited, she ran her fingers over it. Definitely a light switch. And if there was one thing Dana needed, it was light.

She flipped the switch, flooding the room with light. Dana covered her eyes, blinded by the sudden illumination. The light wasn't overly bright, but it was enough to make her headache worse. In the split second before Dana covered her eyes, she saw a pair of old-fashioned lamps on the floor.

_A basement?_ Dana wondered.

She saw shelves loaded with jars and bottles. So that was where the chemical stench was coming from. Some of the bottles were open, the gross aroma spilling into the dusty room. Except it actually wasn't dusty, Dana noticed. It looked well-used, as if someone came down there almost every day.

Dana looked around. This was a big room. But there had to be a door somewhere.

She started walking around, staying far away from the shelves. Dana hoped this wasn't a prank. If it was, Dana wasn't laughing. Her head hurt too much for her to find anything funny.

 

**Kate**

The floor felt cold under Kate's bare skin.

She slowly raised her head, the room around her coming into focus. She didn't remember walking anywhere. But of course, she hadn't. Even in her groggy state, Kate remembered the gloved hand pressed against her mouth. She remembered collapsing. And then nothing, up until Kate opened her eyes again.

Pressing the towel against her body, Kate struggled into a sitting position. She didn't know where she was. That was bad in itself. At least she seemed relatively okay, despite having obviously been knocked out and carried into some unknown place.

It took a moment for Kate's situation to sink in. She was going from point to point in her head, not focusing on herself or her surroundings long enough to panic. It wasn't until she reached the end—the part about her being knocked out—that Kate realized the full scope of what was happening to her. Realized that all of this was real and she was in the middle of it.

“Oh god,” she whispered.

The first time she'd ever taken the lord's name in vain. Kate's family had been strict about that, her mother especially. They insisted that there was never a good reason to perform such a damning act of blasphemy. Well, Kate had found it. And despite the brief guilt that washed over her, Kate had bigger problems.

Kate was in a room filled with shelves. Some kind of storage place. Kate couldn't tell if she was still in the house. Kate didn't feel like she'd been taken outside. Which meant Kate was somewhere she'd never seen before, possibly somewhere none of her friends knew existed.

She got to her feet, keeping the towel pressed firmly against her body. First things first. Kate needed to find some clothes. She wasn't going to get anything done naked. And on a more personal level, Kate just didn't like walking around in a towel. Not while Nathan Prescott might be nearby.

Wishing she knew what was going on, Kate looked around. The only piece of furniture in the room—other than the shelves—appeared to be a single chair. There was something on the chair, some kind of mass Kate couldn't identify from where she stood.

Kate approached the chair, slow and cautious. It was a small metal folding chair. Given how out of place it looked, Kate suspected it was put there for a reason. And as she neared it, that reason became obvious.

The chair contained a small pile of clothes. A T-shirt and a pair of jeans. No shoes though. From what Kate could tell, the clothes weren't exactly her size. But who was she to be picky? And clearly they'd been left there for her. No reason to turn down such a generous gift.

Kate picked up the T-shirt. It had an illustration of a butterfly on the front. Kate sort of liked it. Most of her clothes were plain, due more to personal preference than anything else. Flashy designs and punk shirts were far from her style. But there was something captivating and beautiful about that butterfly. It was like a splash of paint on an otherwise blank canvas. As Kate put it on, she felt more like a normal Blackwell student than she ever had.

The jeans were a decent fit, but not perfect. Kate wished she had a belt or something. But they were better than nothing, so Kate wasn't going to complain. At least she didn't have to walk around in a wet towel.

Kate took a brief moment to just sit. Back when she was a kid, her parents had told her that patience was key for a tricky situation. Most of the time, she just had to wait it out and figure out what God wanted her to do. It might take minutes, might take hours, might take days. But she had to wait. Had to sit there and wait for clarity.

Kate stood up. But she couldn't sit there and wait. Maybe it was what she'd been taught, maybe it was what she was supposed to do. However, when Kate thought of her friends—worried, confused, scared—she couldn't just sit and wait for God to show her the path. She'd been doing that for a good portion of her life. Before now, it hadn't occurred to Kate that she might need more than her faith to get out of a tricky situation.

She grabbed a crowbar from a nearby shelf. It felt heavy and slightly unwieldy in her hand, but Kate liked how safe it made her feel. She'd never held one before. Had never touched a tool or a weapon in her life. But Kate wasn't sure what kinds of trials and tribulations God had waiting for her.

No matter what, Kate wanted to see her friends again. She wanted to make sure they were okay. And if she needed a crowbar to do it, so be it.

 

**Max**

With the others gone, Max was kind of lost.

It had been so much easier to think up a plan when it was five of them. And now that it was only her and Chloe, Max was even more at a loss. How the fuck was she supposed to find _three_ missing people? Should she just wait for help to come? That was assuming the fire station was actually reachable and they were able to get a message out.

Chloe was standing by the fire, her arms crossed. She seemed more calm than Max, but Max doubted she actually was.

“So why did he do it?” said Chloe.

Max was pacing again. She hardly heard what Chloe said. She was too busy thinking about how cut off they were. That fire station was really their only hope until this storm let up. And Max had no idea what they were going to tell the cops if they actually came.

“Huh?” she said.

Chloe turned away from the fire. She seemed to like the flames for some reason. Was fascinated with them in a way that was almost scary. The old Chloe wasn't exactly scared of fire, but she also didn't love it. The new Chloe appeared to be enamored with it, like she'd found truth in the flames.

“Nathan,” said Chloe. “Why did he kill Hayden?”

She sounded so matter-of-fact, like she'd known it the whole time. But she'd held off saying it in front of the others for some reason.

Max stopped pacing and turned to look at Chloe.

“We don't know it was him,” she said.

She'd been harboring that thought in the back of her head, but she ultimately had no proof. All of Max's evidence was circumstantial at best. Max doubted the police would look into the possibility in the first place—the Prescotts could easily shrug off a police investigation—but even if they did, what proof did Max have? No murder weapon, no fingerprints or anything. Just the fact that Nathan was creepy and that she hadn't seen him all night.

Chloe rolled her eyes.

“Oh please,” she said. “Who the fuck else could it be?”

She spread her arms.

“Open your eyes, Max,” she said. “Why else do you think Nathan invited us here? For funsies? Get real.”

Max raised her eyebrows. Okay, what Chloe said made some weird kind of sense, but was also bat-shit nuts. Then again, _Nathan_ was bat-shit nuts. It seemed to run in his family, based on what little Max knew of the Prescotts. Some flaw in their genetic code enhanced by their massive wealth.

“You think he invited us here to kill us?” said Max. “That's totally insane. I mean, why _us?_ I haven't done anything to Nathan.”

Chloe struggled with what she said next, like she was afraid of saying too much.

“You...you don't know this guy, Max,” she said. “He's bad news.”

Max moved closer, concerned. She was starting to feel very left out. The old Chloe never would have held anything back from her. They'd always been open and honest with each other, even when it was embarrassing. Well, up until the Seattle thing. The one time Max had hidden something from her best friend. Maybe this was Max's karma.

“What don't I know?” she said.

Chloe turned back to the fire.

“Look, I'm just saying,” said Chloe. “Nathan Prescott isn't the kind of guy to be taken lightly. He's hella messed up. You shouldn't have come here.”

Max folded her arms.

“Okay, so why did _you_ come here?” she said. “Did you just want to see me?”

She knew why she'd come. She'd been trying to deny it for a while—especially since Warren teased her about it—but it was the same reason Max came back to Arcadia Bay in the first place. And it made her feel like shit, realizing she'd come back just to meet the great and wonderful Mark Jefferson. Max hadn't been thinking about Chloe at all.

Chloe smiled. It was strange. When she smiled, Max could have sworn she was looking at the Chloe she remembered. Despite the hair and the clothes, the old Chloe shone through whenever Chloe displayed even the slightest amount of happiness. But there was still a sadness there, the kind of misery that never really went away.

“Don't flatter yourself,” said Chloe. “I didn't just come here for your dumb ass and you definitely didn't come here for me.”

Max stood next to Chloe, both of them staring into the fire.

“Guess it must be destiny then,” she said.

Chloe snorted.

“Your friend is dead and you're talking about destiny?” she said. “That's kind of fucked up.”

Max agreed, but she wasn't taking it back. She wasn't so sure this wasn't some kind of cosmic fate thing, like the universe had aligned itself to create this specific moment in time. The chance for Max and Chloe to meet again. If Hayden's death had anything to do with it, Max was truly sorry. But if it was unrelated—and it probably was—Max for grateful the universe had decided to throw her a bone.

“We have to find Warren,” she said. “I know he's out there somewhere.”

Max bit her lip. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw Hayden's lifeless body. Max really didn't want to search the house. Didn't want to go any deeper and risk ending up like Hayden. But she didn't have much of a choice. Three people missing. One dead body. Max couldn't just stand there while everyone else did all the hard work.

Chloe frowned.

“There you go again,” she said. “Warren Warren Warren. But of course. You always were a sucker for a pretty face.”

She moved away from the fireplace. The bitterness in Chloe's tone had lessened. She'd probably realized that getting mad about Warren wasn't worthwhile or fair. It wasn't like he'd stolen Max or anything. No, Seattle had stolen Max. And even Chloe Price couldn't be angry at a whole city.

Max gave Chloe a playful nudge.

“Yeah, I was a sucker for _your_ pretty face, you dork,” she said. “You were so demanding when we were kids.”

Chloe smirked.

“Trying to make me blush, Caulfield?” said Chloe.

Max headed for the stairs. The second floor was officially open for investigation. Max hoped they'd find something good, even if Stella and Daniel hadn't.

Chloe followed Max, her arms folded.

“For the record, I'm sure your friends are okay,” she said. “I mean, they're _your_ friends. They have to be.”

Max blushed, although she wasn't sure why. Something about the way Chloe said that.

What did Mr. Jefferson always say? About how “colors paint the soul within”? Something like that. Max wondered what color Chloe saw when they looked at each other. A deep soothing autumn brown? Or a soft red?

When Max looked at Chloe, she saw blue. Everything was just... _blue._


	6. Partners in Crime

**Chloe**

The library looked very _Prescott._ Chloe was a hundred percent sure none of those books had ever been read.

She ran her hand across one of the shelves. She wasn't a big reader herself. Chloe spent too much time getting high to care about books. In fact, that was basically her life. Getting high and sleeping. Had been that way ever since she got kicked out of Blackwell.

Chloe stared at Max out of the corner of her eye, trying to look without making it obvious. She smiled to herself. Max was so cute when she was getting all deductive. Despite the horrific circumstances, Chloe loved to see Max get absorbed in an investigation. Back when they were kids, it was simple stuff, like finding her missing phone. How things had changed.

Her thoughts returned to that shrine, the frown coming back at full force. _Ugh._ Of course that sicko had a Rachel shrine. Chloe should have known. And if it meant what she thought it did, she was even more determined to crush his balls. But first she had to find him. Max would probably take care of that. The next step was significantly easier.

Chloe glanced at Max. Some days, she'd wished Max would swoop back into her life and save her. Other days, she never wanted to see Max's face again. Chloe wasn't sure where she stood anymore.

“Whoa.”

The second the word left Max's mouth, Chloe was sprinting to her side. She'd followed Max without high hopes. What was Max expecting to find in a _library_ of all places? Books about how to solve murders? But Chloe kept her mouth shut. She wasn't the smart one. Maybe once upon a time, but Chloe hadn't touched her science stuff years.

“What is it?” she said.

Max was holding a weird device in her hands. Chloe couldn't tell what it was supposed to be. Could tell it was expensive, but that was par for the course where the Prescotts were concerned. But otherwise, it looked like some futuristic sci-fi shit.

“Is that a _lens?”_ said Chloe.

Max put the thing back on the shelf.

“I think it's a camera,” she said. “Its been turned off, but..”

Chloe took a step back, warily eying the strange device. Now that she really looked at it, it probably _was_ a camera. Nearly invisible if put in the right place. Easy to conceal. Lightweight. And thankfully not recording, given that the little light on the side wasn't blinking.

“That fucker was watching us?” said Chloe. “That means...”

Her heart was racing. _No. No way._ Had Nathan—or whoever—seen them go into the study? Did he know they'd found the shrine?

Max stared at the device. She obviously didn't want to think about what this meant, but Chloe could see the thoughts and ideas flitting across Max's eyes.

“It doesn't mean anything,” said Max.

But Chloe didn't believe that for a second. What _was_ this? Was the whole place some big game? A trap? What the hell was Nathan's angle?

Max turned away from the bookshelf to face Chloe. She clearly had something she wanted to say, but she was having trouble getting the words out. Chloe had seen that enough—mostly from herself—to realize what that meant.

Max had something to drop on her. Something Chloe wasn't going to like. But seeing as Chloe didn't like anything about this situation, she really wished Max would stop holding stuff back.

“Do you think this has to do with Rachel Amber?” said Max.

Chloe let out a heavy sigh. Yeah, she had thought about that. It had been on her mind since they'd found the shrine. They were nearing the anniversary of Rachel's disappearance. Off by a few days, but close. But now Chloe was seeing connections everywhere. Everything led back to Rachel.

“It wouldn't surprise me,” she said. “That little weasel was always obsessed with her. Not that Rachel would give him the time of day.”

Max hesitated.

“Did they ever..you know...?” said Max.

Chloe was growing more uncomfortable as the conversation wore on. She wished they could focus on something else, like the potential camera dilemma or Warren. Anything but Rachel.

Rachel had burned brighter than any fire Chloe had ever seen. A volatile force of nature contained in a human body. Being around her was like trying to hold onto a thunderstorm. Constantly rocking back and forth, the ground underneath her feet rumbling. Going from one extreme to the other.

That was how Rachel lived and it was so easy to get swept up in it. To become just another chaotic element in Rachel Amber's life. But those were things Chloe couldn't articulate to other people. You had to actually be around Rachel, to experience her pull. Otherwise it sounded like metaphorical bullshit.

“No,” said Chloe. “Never.”

She turned away.

“But...cinnamon,” she said. “That was Rachel's favorite. I thought I was the only one who knew.”

Max reached for Chloe's shoulder, then seemed to think better of it. Her arm dropped to her side.

“I'm sure she cared about you,” she said.

Chloe let out a bitter laugh.

“How would you know?” she said. “You didn't even know her.”

That was kind of a moot point, not that Max could have known. Some days, Chloe wasn't sure she knew Rachel. Rachel could have been a stranger, some girl Chloe had glimpsed on the other side of the road. Other days, Chloe felt like she knew everything about Rachel. This girl who was brighter than the sun, whose fingers left scorch marks on her skin, whose kisses burned. This girl who didn't believe in strings.

Max knelt in front of the bookcase. She seemed to be overly interested in it. Chloe didn't get it. It was just a bunch of books. But Chloe wasn't a detective, so she decided not to say anything. Neither was Max, but at least Max had the patience and nosiness to be a decent investigator.

Chloe had never been sure about her own future, other than some childish fantasies of being a spy. And although Chloe tried, Blackwell hadn't cemented anything in her head. That place had just been a chore for her. A place to blow off steam, but ultimately not where Chloe Price belonged. Now she was adrift and Blackwell couldn't touch her anymore.

As Chloe watched, Max carefully squeezed her fingers between the edge of the bookcase and the walls. She managed to get her whole hand inside the surprisingly ample space. Then she shoved her other hand in, using them to widen the space between the bookcase and the wall. Max started to pull, grunting in exertion as she tried to move the bookcase. There seemed to be something behind it.

Chloe grabbed onto the bookcase and pulled as hard as she could. She didn't think her own strength would add much—Chloe hadn't really worked out in a hella long time—but it actually made a difference. It took a few minutes of grunting, but their combined power was enough to completely separate the bookcase from the wall.

The bookcase opened like a door, revealing what looked like the entrance to a whole other room.

Max pumped her fists triumphantly.

“I thought I felt air coming from somewhere,” she said.

Grinning, Chloe shook her head. This was another thing she'd missed about them being friends. This sense of adventure. Discovery and thrills. Always looking for the next exciting thing in Arcadia Bay.

“Nice one, Mad Max,” said Chloe.

Max peered down the stairs. It was too dark to see where they led. It looked like a tunnel of some kind. No telling what was at the other end. But that was the fun part, right?

“Race you to the end!” said Chloe.

She dashed past Max and hit the stairs running, laughing as if she was having the time of her life. This reminded her so much of when they were kids. Running up and down the lighthouse steps had been one of her favorite things as a kid. Chloe used to love that lighthouse before Max left. Hadn't visited it in years.

A little more reluctant, Max slowly followed. She clearly had a bad feeling about this. But then again, when did a creepy secret tunnel ever indicate something good? In Chloe's experience, never.

 

**Stella**

Stella could have sworn they were going in circles. That they were just looping the same route over and over. She honestly couldn't tell. It all looked the same.

She was trying to ignore the biting cold. Stella had promised she was going to get help, promised she was going to get them out of this. So she had to try, even if she was freezing her ass off. But the weather was getting worse and Stella was losing her sense of direction.

Daniel put his hand on Stella's shoulder, startling her.

“Are we almost there?” he said.

Stella consulted the map in her head. Except the map wasn't a big help because she had no idea where they were. It was all just lines and dots. No landmarks.

“Shouldn't be long now,” said Stella.

Stella didn't feel bad about the lie. Had to keep Daniel calm. Had to keep herself calm. That was the only way they were going to make it there. Too late to go back.

Daniel grabbed Stella's arm. He was more on edge than her.

Stella was more shaken up about Hayden's death than she would ever let on. Her first dead body. She'd barely known Hayden at Blackwell, but Stella thought he was a decent guy who was leagues above the other dip-shits in the infamous Vortex Club. It sucked that he'd just died like that.

“Did you hear that?” said Daniel. “Something moving through the trees.”

Stella didn't pull her arm from Daniel's grip. She was worried about them getting separated. According to all the popular horror movies, that never ended well.

“It was an animal or something,” she said.

But her mind had already turned towards Hayden's dead body again. Someone must have killed him. And that someone could have been Nathan. Or maybe Stella had it all wrong. Stella had no idea who or what was skulking around out there. The idea of some ax murderer lurking nearby was less far-fetched than Stella wanted it to be.

Daniel dug his fingers into Stella's arm. He was shaking, but not just from the cold.

“It sounded big,” he said. “Like a bear or something.”

Stella didn't know which scared her more: a bear or an ax murderer. If she had to choose, she would have gone for the latter. Ax murderers couldn't run as fast as bears. But on the other hand, bears could potentially be scared away. Ax murderers not so much.

She stopped in her tracks. Stella was sure she'd seen something out of the corner of her eye. Some kind of indistinct shape in the trees. But Stella couldn't tell if it was human or not, only that it moved quickly. Or was that just her eyes playing tricks on her?

“There's nothing out here,” she said.

Stella said it so firmly that she almost convinced herself.

But then she saw another shape out of the corner of her eye, this one moving a lot slower. Not slow enough for her to make it out. She thought maybe it was big, possibly bear-shaped. But Stella couldn't be sure.

By the time Stella turned to look, whatever it was had disappeared. And with the wind and snow picking up, Stella could barely see anything. Easy enough for her to lose sight of someone or something.

Daniel swallowed hard.

“I think we should go back,” he said.

Stella agreed with him, but she also knew that wasn't practical. If there really was an ax murderer out there, that was even more reason to call for help. Ideally from the safety of the house, but obviously that wasn't going to work. No cell reception.

“It's only a little further,” she said.

Stella sure hoped she was somehow right. Because the longer they stayed out there, the more she was convinced they were being watched.

 

**Kate**

Kate had been walking for a while, or at least she felt like she had.

Her bare feet were starting to ache, but she couldn't stop. Kate needed to find a way out of there. Needed to at least find a safe place to rest for a little while. But where was a “safe place”? All Kate saw were shelves filled with tools and broken down pieces of machinery.

The crowbar seemed to be getting heavier by the minute. Kate was afraid she might drop it. But she held on tight, letting the feel of it keep her calm.

She kept moving, shuffling forward at a slow pace. There was light at irregular intervals. Filthy light bulbs up above and lamps placed on the floor. But those long stretches of darkness made Kate anxious. She counted the seconds until she reached another lamp. Kate had never been particularly afraid of the dark, but those moments were agony for her. She kept expecting something to jump out at her.

As Kate turned a corner, she finally heard something. Not wind howling or something that would have indicated a way out. In fact, she hadn't heard the wind outside for a while. This place seemed to be soundproof. But now Kate was hearing noises. Something—or someone—was there with her.

She held the crowbar in front of her, ready to swing. As Kate moved closer to the sounds, she realized it definitely wasn't an animal or a furnace or something. No, those sounds were human. No machine or creature could have made those noises. And whoever it was, they sounded distressed.

There was something lying near one of the walls. No, not something. _Someone._ A man. He was lying on his side, groaning. The man sounded like he was in pain.

Kate approached him slowly, crowbar at the ready. She felt like this was a trap, although she couldn't imagine why. Kate's drive to help the poor man was overridden by fear. Nothing that had happened so far made any sense to Kate. She was wondering who or what she could trust.

“Whose there?” the man said.

He tried to get into a sitting position, but he instead sucked air through his teeth and collapsed again.

Kate finally reached him. He looked to be in his thirties. His clothes were kind of dirty, but that might have just been from crawling around on the floor. Somewhat muscular build. He looked vaguely familiar to Kate, but she couldn't quite place him. Had she seen him at Blackwell? He didn't look like a student or a teacher. Maybe somewhere outside of school, like the diner?

The man looked up at her, his eyes filled with mistrust. It was kind of funny. He probably could have picked Kate up and thrown her across the room, yet he seemed genuinely threatened by her. But of course Kate had a crowbar and he didn't seem capable of moving from his position on the floor.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said.

Kate swallowed hard. She didn't want to talk to this man. She wanted to keep going, leaving him there to whatever fate awaited him. But Kate knew that was selfish of her. The man didn't look like he wanted to be down there. And even though Kate was scared, she felt sorry for him.

“I'm Kate,” she said.

The man finally managed to get himself into a sitting position, propping himself against the wall behind him.

“Frank,” he said. “Frank Bowers.”

The name rang a bell. Kate knew she'd heard it somewhere. From Nathan? Or maybe someone else at Blackwell? Kate didn't like how her mind was blanking on the details. She felt like she should know this man, that his name should have meant something to her.

“If you don't mind me asking, what are you doing down here?” said Kate.

Frank snorted.

“Isn't it obvious?” he said. “Having a fucking party.”

He tried to shift his position a little, but groaned in pain.

Kate noticed the dark red stain that had seeped through Frank's pant leg. Dried blood. Kate had seen enough of it not to be freaked out—her mom used to work with injured animals and sometimes Kate tagged along—but the sight made her feel slightly sick.

“Is your leg okay?” she said.

In response, Frank pulled up his pant leg. It wasn't as bad as Kate thought it was going to be. She'd expected something horrific. But Frank had wrapped it pretty well. He'd used a filthy T-shirt for a bandage, which wasn't quite ideal. But he'd managed to stop the bleeding.

“Can't walk,” said Frank. “Fucker got me right in the leg.”

Kate leaned forward a little for a better look. Yeah, that definitely didn't look like something you could walk on. Even through the makeshift bandage, Kate could tell Frank's leg was messed up. Kate could also tell he needed a hospital.

“What, um...”fricker” got you in the leg?” said Kate.

Frank shook his head.

“Don't know,” he said. “Didn't see his face. He was wearing a mask. Knocked me out, threw me down here, fucked up my leg. Bastard.”

Kate tried not to think about some guy in a mask lurking around and messing up peoples' legs. But she did wonder why she'd been the lucky one. Why did Frank get his leg screwed up, but she just got knocked out and thrown down there?

“What are you doing here?” said Kate.

Frank let out a heavy sigh, then a sharp laugh.

“Prescott said he had my money,” he said. “Wanted to meet me up here. Little weasel.”

“ _Money for what?”_ Kate wanted to ask, but she had a pretty good idea. There was only one good reason a Prescott would be associating with someone like Frank. And now that Kate turned that name over in her head, she remembered where she'd heard it. Had caught it in a passing conversation between Victoria and someone else. And Kate had seen that creepy RV in the school parking lot more than once. She was willing to bet it belonged to Frank.

The way Kate saw it, she had two options: leave Frank or help him. Kate almost wanted to leave him there. But that required a lot of guts on her part. She'd have to pray he didn't die while she was gone. And Kate absolutely couldn't have something like that anywhere near her conscience, no matter what she thought of Frank as a person.

So there was really only one option, at least in Kate's head. Plus she saw kindness in Frank's eyes. She didn't think he'd hurt her. After all, Kate didn't owe him money.

She grabbed Frank's arm. It took a while, but Kate managed to get him to his feet. Frank had to brace himself up against the wall to help her. Then when he was halfway there, he sort of thrust himself forward and almost slammed right into Kate.

“Can you walk?” said Kate.

She put his arm around his shoulders to keep him upright. Kate was small, but she'd done this before. One time her dad had collapsed in the kitchen while no one else was home. Kate had to haul him to his feet and half-carry him into the living room. In hindsight, Kate should have let him stay put, but she'd been young and freaking out at the time. Fortunately, she actually remembered to call an ambulance. That was around the time Kate's dad started calling her “his angel”. And Kate accepted the title, because she considered herself someone who always helped others in need.

“What do you think, kid?” said Frank.

He was rightfully scared to put any weight on his injured leg.

Kate took a deep breath. This was going to be a slow process. Difficult and possibly fatal for both of them. But Kate was sure she could do it. For the time being, Kate needed to be Frank's angel.

 

**Max**

The tunnel seemed to go on forever, which wasn't a good sign.

Max kept thinking about all the stuff they could be doing: helping Stella and Daniel, hiking back out to the cable station, finding some emergency flairs or whatever people used to get off mountains. Anything other than exploring a mysterious tunnel.

At least they had a light source. Max was in front, using the light from her phone to see what was in front of them. Not that it made a huge difference. As far as Max could see, it was just an empty tunnel. No doors or ladders. Just tunnel.

Chloe had her hands on Max's shoulders. Getting lost in such a narrow tunnel was completely impossible, but Max was grateful for Chloe's touch. It kept her grounded. Reminded her that she was far from alone in this nightmare.

Mark Jefferson was always encouraging Max to be more bold, to follow her heart into the unknown. Well, she was finally doing it. Would Mr. Jefferson have been proud or horrified?

“How much longer?” said Chloe.

Max kept going, aiming her light at the encroaching darkness before them. It didn't look good down there.

“Like I'd know,” she said.

She was hoping this tunnel led to, well, a helicopter or something. Something that could get them the hell out of there. A tank would have been perfect. But Max had a feeling this otherwise extravagant house didn't come with a handy dandy escape pod. Or an escape tunnel for that matter.

“Who builds this shit?” said Chloe.

Max ran her hand across the left wall, feeling for a door. Nothing. Just smooth tunnel on both sides.

“Prescotts,” she said.

It occurred to Max that this tunnel might lead to Nathan. Maybe he was hiding out down there, waiting for someone to find him. His idea of a practical joke.

Max had never really gotten into Nathan's head. Not that she wanted to. Nathan Prescott was where Max's snooping tendencies stopped. But Max kind of wished they didn't. If Max had known all this messed up shit was going to go down, she would have composed a full character study.

“So that guy,” said Max. “Eliot. What's the deal with him? How long have you two been a thing?”

Chloe wrapped her arms around Max, clinging to her like a backpack. The position made walking a little more awkward, but Max didn't complain. They both needed the closeness. It kept their minds off Warren and Hayden. For now, they could focus on each others' body heat and try to hear each others' heartbeats. Made the whole experience more bearable.

“We're not a _thing,_ Max,” said Chloe. “Like I said, he's a friend.”

Max sounded as skeptical as she felt.

“Some friend,” she said.

Chloe let go of Max, her voice turning bitter.

“Like you're any better,” she said. “At least Eliot didn't leave me for four fucking years.”

Max whirled around, the light hitting Chloe directly in the face. She quickly lowered it, but not before Chloe covered her eyes and cried out.

“Would you just _let it go?”_ said Max. “Why do you have to keep talking about it?”

Chloe's voice rose angrily.

“Because you didn't even ask, you fucking asshole,” she said.

Max stared, baffled by Chloe's reply. She couldn't see Chloe's face in the darkness, but she didn't like the way Chloe's voice shook. They'd been holding it together for so long. But Chloe couldn't give them a single moment of peace, even when they were looking for Warren. And Max wasn't sure she entirely deserved this relentless attack. Chloe knew Max felt guilty. Wasn't that more than enough?

“ _What?”_ said Max.

Chloe turned away, her voice lowering. She probably didn't like the sound of it bouncing off the walls.

“You didn't ask about me at all,” said Chloe. “How I've been, what I've been doing. You had so much time, but all you want to talk about is how sorry you are. Just admit it, Max. Admit you don't care.”

Max spoke softly, moving a little closer.

“I _do_ care,” she said. “Moving to Seattle completely wrecked me. I thought my life was ending. I thought I'd never see you again. I wanted to be there for you. I really did. But you know how my parents are.”

She swallowed hard.

“And yeah, maybe I should have fought a little harder,” said Max. “But I was just a stupid teenager. We both were. We both _are._ If I could take those years back, I would.”

Max put her hand on Chloe's shoulder. She felt gratified when Chloe didn't shrug it off or slap it away. That was all Max wanted. That brief physical contact that Chloe didn't rebuke, that electric shock of connection flowing right from Chloe's body to her own. The flurry of happiness that went straight into Max's chest. She knew Chloe felt it too.

“I owe you the world, Chloe,” she said.

Chloe touched Max's hand, the one resting on her shoulder.

“Yeah, you do,” said Chloe.

Max slid her hand out from under Chloe's. She didn't want to, but this wasn't the time to be sentimental. They had a mission. There'd be plenty of time for all of this after they'd done what they went down there to do.

“Let's find Warren,” said Max.

Without another word, her and Chloe continued down the tunnel.

Max hoped Chloe's heart was pounding as hard as hers was.


	7. Keeping Secrets

**Dana**

Dana had found zero of the things she needed.

She was looking for an exit, but all she'd found was junk, shelves, and bottles. None of which hinted at where she needed to go. Dana was starting to feel like she was going in circles. She probably was.

She ran her hand down one of the shelves. The Prescotts sure had a lot of stuff. Old film equipment, dusty books, weird modern art. Dana didn't pause to look at most of it. She doubted the answer to all her questions was going to be in a book. So Dana kept going, trying to mark her current location as best she could.

Or maybe Dana had been going in circles because there wasn't an exit in the first place. No way out, so Dana had to keep looping until she collapsed from exhaustion. But that was insane, right? There had to be some way out. If there was a way in, there was a way out.

Out of ideas, Dana finally decided to look up. For some reason, she hadn't thought to do that until her third or fourth loop. It was more an act of desperation than anything else. Dana had no idea where she was going, only that she didn't want to be there.

_No way._ Dana squinted. Yeah, that was definitely something. Little wooden panel right up above her. Some kind of hatch. A way to climb out. How had Dana missed it before? She felt like a dumbass, but also relieved that she'd actually spotted the thing.

Dana grabbed a broom stick from a corner of the room. Grinning in triumph, she thrust it upward, slamming it against the hatch. To her relief, it didn't seem to be locked. And after a few more prods with the broom, Dana was able to get it open.

She emptied one of the shelves and stood on it to reach the hatch. Had to stand on her tiptoes and hook her arms over the side. It took every ounce of upper body strength for Dana to pull herself up. She was so dizzy from the thought of escaping that she nearly let go out of sheer elation. This was way too good to be true. Just a hatch leading up when Dana needed it. So what was the catch?

Up at last, Dana collapsed onto the floor. She was panting and somewhat bruised, but at least she wasn't trapped down there. Dana wondered who'd tossed her down there and why. she wanted to believe it was a dumb prank, her friends trying to mess with her. But there was something so _real_ about it. Dana just couldn't believe her friends had left her down there like that. No fanfare when she got out, no party hats, no huge _Gotcha._ Just Dana pacing for what seemed like hours until she found that hatch.

She grunted. Nathan was probably behind this. Dana gave Nathan a lot of slack because, well, she knew a lot of stuff about the guy that no one else did. They weren't exactly best pals, but Nathan had confided in Dana while they were both high. All it took was a few hits of the good stuff to loosen Nathan's tongue. Then suddenly Nathan was talking about all kinds of messed up stuff, a lot of it to do with Sean Prescott.

Dana knew enough to realize that Nathan needed some serious help. And as much as she wanted to be the shoulder Nathan could cry on, they were both just teenagers at some stuck-up art school. There wasn't much Dana could do for Nathan's mental health. And a lot of the time, Nathan didn't even seem to want help. At least he was always fun to party with.

She looked around. Dana had expected to be back in the house, but this sure as shit wasn't anywhere she'd seen before. Certain members of Nathan's elite got to party at the Prescotts' mountain estate from time to time, so Dana knew the layout pretty well. But this place? This couldn't be the house. Looked more like the shed out back.

Dana rubbed the back of her head. This _was_ the shed out back. she'd been out there a few times during those visits. Place was used to store old machinery and snowmobiles.

She got to her feet. Dana wasn't dressed for the cold weather, but she wasn't too worried about freezing to death. The house wasn't too far away.

If this really was Nathan's idea of a practical joke, Dana was starting to rethink every nice thing she'd said about the guy. Dana always jumped at the chance to defend Nathan from haters, but sometimes she just didn't know. Maybe Hayden was a little too optimistic about Nathan. Hayden always seemed to be in Nathan's camp for whatever reason and Dana stood by him.

Dana headed for the massive double doors. The frosty air was creeping in from outside. This place wasn't exactly built stable. It was probably the oldest building on the estate, likely never renovated. The house had been added to and altered a lot over the past century. Used to be a hotel or something, Nathan had said once.

She pushed against the doors, expecting them to fly open. Instead they remained firmly closed, like they were bolted from the other side. Dana tried again, pushing a little harder this time. Same result. Someone had locked the doors from outside, trapping her in the shed. _Crap._

Dana turned back to the vast room in front of her. There had to be something in the shed. Some kind of tool she could use to bust down the doors. The place was filled with all kinds of machinery. There had to be a wrench or something lying around.

She headed over to a corner of the room, searching for a toolbox. What even was all of this stuff? Machinery obviously, but Dana could barely see any of it. Not that it would have helped. Most of this stuff was old and rusted. It hadn't functioned in years and Dana had no idea what it was for. Probably old mining equipment.

_Shit._ It was way too dark in the shed. Dana didn't have her phone and she hadn't seen a flashlight while she was down in that secret room. So far she hadn't bumped into anything, but that was sheer luck and not much else.

Why was there a secret room under the shed anyway? That seemed like the opposite of a good place for a top secret hideout. And all those chemicals and tools. Thinking about it made Dana uneasy. Whatever that place was, it was bad news. Prescott-level bad news.

She straightened up. No toolbox. But she did see what looked like a tarp on the other side of the room. Looked like there was something big under it. Maybe some tools Dana could use?

Dana approached it, moving slowly in the almost pitch black room. The wind outside was practically shrieking. Dana was afraid the shed was going to collapse, burying her under a pile of wood and rubble. But she didn't have much choice. Dana had to find a way to get out before she started worrying about the cold or the shed's stability.

The wind outside was far too loud. That's why Dana didn't hear the clunky sounds of that old machinery coming to life. Didn't hear the whirring of a half-rusted blade or the gnarled crunching of gears starting to turn.

Dana knelt in front of the tarp. She wrinkled her nose. _Ugh._ The thing smelled rancid. What the hell was under there? More chemicals? Was it part of Nathan's weird sick prank?

Pressing one hand over her nose, Dana grabbed the tarp. She didn't want to remove it. Didn't want to see what was causing that smell. But she had to. It was the worst thing Dana had ever smelled in her life and she needed to know what it was.

The wind had died down a little, but the machine was getting louder. Just as Dana yanked the tarp away, she heard the ancient piece of equipment gasping to life. Dana heard the blade whirring, the gears spinning.

Dana heard the footsteps. Then she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders.

 

**Stella**

Stella took one huge step forward and almost fell over.

She swore she'd seen the old fire tower in the distance, but then it disappeared in a haze of snow. She had no idea if it had ever been there or if she'd imagined it. Either way, Stella was not in a good head space. She was really starting to feel that hopelessness.

She braced herself against a tree, letting its sturdiness keep her steady. Up until now, Stella had been walking like she had a mission, like she knew what she was doing. Now she realized that she was no more capable of finding her way in this frosty mess than anyone else.

At least the wind was dying down. Stella could finally hear her own thoughts. They weren't good thoughts, but she could hear them.

Stella pressed her face against the tree, wrapping her arms around it and shutting her eyes. The fire tower had to be _somewhere._ Somewhere she could see. Because something that big couldn't hide from Stella, even in the middle of a fucking snow storm.

She opened her eyes. Or maybe she'd been wrong about the fire tower. Entirely wrong. Maybe it had been torn down years ago and Stella was looking for its ghost. That made a twisted sort of sense. A bitter punchline to this whole thing. Stella wished she had a map. An actual physical map, not the one in her head.

“Daniel?” she said.

Stella looked around. _Shit._ It had taken her way too long to notice Daniel wasn't clinging to her arm anymore. And even after she did, Stella had told herself he was right behind her. There was no way she'd lost him in the storm.

But that seemed to be the case. Stella's gaze swept across the immediate area. She shouted his name, but the wind just threw it back in her face. Daniel was nowhere.

Stella pressed her hands against the sides of her head and let out a frustrated scream. _Of fucking course. Of course_ she would lose Daniel out here. Of course he would just vanish like Warren. So much for sticking together. Stella felt like throwing something, even though she was more scared than angry. But focusing on the anger kept her mind clear.

Go back the way she'd come or keep going? It didn't matter at this point. Stella was so lost that she could have headed in any random direction. But she was bound to find _something,_ right? It wasn't like this place was endless. Eventually she'd hit a cliff or a building. Maybe Stella would end up at the abandoned mine. Or if she was lucky, she'd just double back and find herself at the house.

Stella started walking. She didn't want to stay in the same place for too long. Not while Daniel was missing.

She heard what sounded like a twig snapping and some muffled footsteps. Someone walking through the snow. Not too far away. But Stella couldn't tell where the sounds were coming from. She couldn't even tell if they were real.

“Daniel?” she said.

She stopped, hoping to hear someone shouting her name. But the muffled footsteps had ceased. All Stella could hear was the wind. Or had it been the wind all along?

Stella remembered what Daniel had said about wolves. She wasn't sure about the wildlife in this place, but that didn't seem too far-fetched. However, that hadn't sounded like a wolf. Too big. Maybe a bear?

“Nathan?” said Stella.

As if in answer to her question, Stella heard the same muffled footsteps and twigs snapping. Someone was moving through the trees. Stella looked around, but she couldn't see anyone. It was snowing way too hard and there was wilderness everywhere she looked. Plenty of places for someone to be hiding.

Stella started to run, heading in the direction she'd supposedly seen the fire tower. Maybe she could make it there. She _had to_ make it there. And as long as she kept running, Stella was certain she would find something.

 

**Kate**

Kate was getting tired, but she kept going.

This place had to end somewhere, right? It couldn't just go on forever. And Kate likely hadn't been walking as long as she thought. It was just that her and Frank were moving at a snail's pace.

“Where are we?” she said.

She said it more to herself, briefly forgetting about Frank. But he answered her mostly rhetorical question.

“Basement,” said Frank. “I think. Somewhere under the Prescott house.”

Kate nodded. This definitely looked like a basement, what with all the shelves and tools lying around. But it also looked unusually clean, like it was used often. Which seemed mildly unsettling to Kate. A well-used basement was never a good sign.

There seemed to be some kind of bright light in the distance. Kate squinted at it, unsure of what such a massive light source was doing in a basement. It looked like someone had placed a flood light or something on the floor.

“Looks like a way out,” said Frank.

He sounded hopeful for the first time. Him and Kate had barely talked in the past ten minutes or so, which was fine with Kate. She didn't want to pressure Frank into being friendly, especially given his injury. But from the little he'd supplied, Kate realized that he was too a church-goer. Maybe not as devout as her family, but he'd quoted the Bible twice. Both times in reference to salvation.

After such long periods of darkness, Kate had to shut her eyes. Her and Frank had just entered a shockingly bright room. It wasn't just the spotlights mounted to the walls. The walls themselves seemed to shine. Even the floor under their feet had changed. It was no longer crude. Everything in the room—including the floor—looked freshly polished.

“What the fuck?” said Frank.

He was likely wondering the exact same thing Kate was: who built something like this in a _basement?_ It looked like some kind of high tech photo studio, but in the wrong place.

Kate eased Frank down to the floor, letting his weight spill off of her shoulders. She sat down next to him, rubbing her eyes and squinting into the light.

She spotted what looked like a shelf full of camera equipment. So this _was_ a photo studio. Made sense. Nathan was a budding photographer. And he could afford the best equipment in the world, as well as his own personal dark room. But that didn't answer Kate's biggest question.

“So what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?” said Frank.

Kate flinched. That sounded like a cheesy pick-up line Frank had used more than once in his life, but Kate knew he was sincerely asking. Who wouldn't? Even Kate wasn't sure why she'd come up there.

“I guess I thought Nathan deserved a chance,” said Kate. “Don't we all deserve at least one chance?”

Frank stared at the ceiling.

“You know what?” he said. “No. I think some people deserve to rot. No chances.”

He gestured at himself.

“Me?” said Frank. “I've done some bad shit. But I owned up to it. I was given the chance to change and I did it. But some people? Some people just trample all over you.”

He glanced at Kate, smiling a little.

“You're just a kid,” said Frank. “Life hasn't kicked you in the balls too hard. But you'll learn. We all do.”

Kate pressed her head against the wall, looking at the ceiling. It was bizarre, just finding this surreal room in the middle of so much junk and chaos. It was like the light at the end of the tunnel. But this light didn't feel warm or comforting. It felt cold and desolate.

“I wouldn't say that,” said Kate. “I've done some stuff too.”

She regretted the words immediately. Why was Kate suddenly getting so comfortable? Was it because Frank was technically a stranger, someone who wouldn't be able to judge her? Unlike her mom, who would have had nothing good to say about Kate's various sins.

It didn't matter that Kate had repented over and over again. Her mother had been judging her for years and it only got worse when Kate headed to Blackwell. But maybe Kate's mom was right. Maybe Blackwell really was a den of blasphemy.

Frank eyed her, amused.

“Trust me, kid,” he said. “Whatever you think you did, it wasn't as bad as what I've been through.”

He let out a heavy sigh.

“Had this friend,” said Frank. “We were in business together for a while. Then he got into some stuff I didn't exactly like and...well, we had to split up. The hardest decision of my life. Barely made it out alive.”

Kate considered sharing her story. But it wasn't something she could just tell someone. It went beyond any sin Kate had ever committed in her life, any mistake she'd ever made. The worst part was the inner conflict. She knew she was supposed to regret it, but a part of her regarded it as this beautiful, freeing thing. Yet in her heart, Kate knew it was wrong. She knew she'd messed up.

Kate stood up. She was tired of sitting in one place. Tired of letting those familiar thoughts circle her brain.

She went over to one of the shelves. Rows and rows of fancy cameras and equipment. Altogether, this set-up probably cost almost as much as the house. Only the best for Nathan Prescott. And Kate wanted to resent him for that, but she really couldn't. He'd found his passion. If Kate had Prescott money, she would have poured most of it into her own art. In a way, it was kind of admirable.

Kate reached up to open one of the cabinets. She didn't mean to snoop, but she decided it couldn't hurt. Maybe it was a side effect of being around Max for so long.

The cabinet was full of ink bottles and sheets of paper. Nothing too interesting. Kate had expected a high-tech entertainment system or something. But it was just more supplies for whatever the heck Nathan was doing down there.

She was about to close the cabinet, but Kate noticed something at the back. Something almost concealed behind the ink bottles and paper. Definitely put there on purpose. Nearly invisible at first glance. But once Kate saw them, she couldn't stop looking.

There was a bunch of them, pressed right up against the back of the cabinet. A neat little row. Dark red binders.

Curious, Kate grabbed one of the binders. She carefully maneuvered it out of the cabinet, knocking over one of the ink bottles in the process. Kate didn't care too much about that. She was wondering why someone would shove a bunch of binders into the back of a cabinet.

The binder had a name on it: _Samantha._ Kate had known at least one Samantha in her life, but she doubted it was the same one. That would be too much of a ridiculous coincidence. “Samantha” was a pretty common name. No, this had to be someone else. But who was this girl and why did she have a binder in Nathan's weird basement?

Kate started taking more binders out of the cabinet. Each one had a name on it. _Samantha. Jolie. Anna._ And so on. Kate didn't recognize any of the names. Blackwell students? Or just some random girls Kate didn't know? Neither answer satisfied the broader question of _why._

“You okay over there?” said Frank.

Kate started to answer, but something occurred to her. Kate glanced at the stack of binders on the counter, then turned back to the cabinet. It came to her like a snapshot. A very recent memory rendered in vivid color.

The binders. There was one missing. A single empty space in the middle.

As Kate considered this strange detail, she heard what sounded like footsteps. She whirled to face the way they'd come, pressing herself against the counter. Kate still had her crowbar—no way she was letting go of that—but suddenly it didn't make her feel so safe.

Frank pulled something out of his pocket. He must have heard the footsteps. He was staring at the open doorway next to him. Kate could practically see his heart beating. And now Frank was holding something small and thin, his hand shaking. It looked like a knife.

Kate's heart was pounding out of her chest. She had no idea who was coming or why, but she was pretty sure it was bad news.

 

**Chloe**

Chloe sighed in relief. _Finally._

End of the road. Or more accurately, end of the tunnel. _Holy shit._ How long was that? Three hours? Thirty minutes? Neither of them could walk too fast in the darkness. Even with the light from Max's phone, they'd been moving way too slowly for Chloe's taste.

“What is it?” she said.

Max reached out with both hands to touch something Chloe couldn't quite see. Whatever it was, it had stopped Max dead in her tracks.

“Door,” said Max.

She passed Chloe the phone.

Chloe aimed at where Max had been pointing the light. It actually _was_ a door. Big and surprisingly modern-looking. No security lock or anything like that. Looked almost brand new.

What the hell even was this house? First that study with the Rachel shrine, now a weird tunnel. This place was too incoherent to be real.

Max felt along the door, trying to find a knob or a handle. When she apparently found nothing, Max just pressed her hands against the door and leaned her weight against it. To Chloe's shock, that was enough. As soon as Max put her weight against it, the door swung open.

Chloe grabbed the back of Max's hoodie to stop her from falling into the room.

“Not bad, Mad Max,” she said.

She dodged around Max and went through the door, phone held out. Could barely see shit even with the light, but when had that ever stopped Chloe? Chloe had gone into darker places with no light source whatsoever. Her and Max had been into—well, it was mostly Chloe—exploration when they were kids. A lot of spooky abandoned places in Arcadia Bay.

Max tried to grab Chloe's shoulders to stop her.

“Hey, we shouldn't...,” she started.

But Chloe was already through the door. And of course Max had no choice but to follow. Couldn't argue with the one holding the light source. But she did let out a frustrated sigh.

Chloe didn't get it. What was Max's problem? This was supposed to be an _adventure,_ right? Terrifying, but fun. Why was Max—the one heading this investigation—being such a fucking weenie? _Geez._ Maybe Blackwell had sucked all the bravery right out of Max. Made sense. Pretentious art schools tended to do that. Chloe was so glad she got out before she ended up succumbing to Blackwell's militant hive mind.

Swinging the light back and forth, Chloe frowned. Okay, this definitely wasn't the house. Walls were a dead giveaway. No, this looked way too _rustic._ More outside than inside, if that made sense. As if the house had decided to start reclaiming the nature around it.

“Oh shit,” said Max. “I think we're in the mine.”

Chloe aimed the light at the ceiling.

“Okay, so why the fuck is there a tunnel going from the house to the mine?” she said.

She'd never been in an abandoned mine before. That should have gone without saying, but Chloe had seen some shit in her time. And as cool as it was, she had to remind herself that she was still on _Prescott_ land. That family name meant danger. It meant bad things were about to happen.

It was cold in there. Not as cold as the outside, but Chloe could feel the frosty air. They both must have noticed the steadily falling temperature in the tunnel, but neither had said anything. Now they were both starting to really feel that frosty air. And neither of them were dressed for it. No coats.

Max wrapped her arms around herself and moved closer to Chloe, beginning to shiver.

Chloe wrapped her arms around Max, pulling her close. The exchange of body heat made the whole thing a lot more bearable. Or maybe it was just the closeness distracting them from the cold. Either way, the overall temperature seemed to increase as Chloe held Max in her arms.

Chloe couldn't remember the last time they'd been this close. Maybe during one of their many childhood sleepovers? No, not even then. Even when they were huddled under the covers together—laughing and reading comic books—there'd always been that physical distance. And of course Chloe had been missing out on those Max hugs for a while.

It was like being in another world. Holding each other like that, Max's soft hair brushing against Chloe's bare neck. Max's breath against Chloe's bare skin. The thumping of what felt like a shared heartbeat.

“Hey, Max?” said Chloe.

She bit her lip. There were so many things she wanted to say. But she also didn't want to ruin this perfect moment. Chloe had had so few of those in the past few years.

Max didn't seem to be listening.

“Do you smell that?” she said.

She broke away from Chloe. She was still shaking from the cold, but curiosity seemed to have gotten the better of her.

Chloe sniffed. She _did_ smell something. Not the usual mine stench, whatever the hells that meant. No, there was something oddly familiar and not too far away. Chloe couldn't really place it.

She headed towards the scent, Max following behind her. She was getting a bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Chloe legitimately didn't want to be there. But of course she had no choice in the matter.

It was funny. Back when they were kids, the worst they'd ever found was the skeleton of a long-dead bird inside a tree. It had freaked them out for weeks afterward. Now they were chasing after a weird smell in an abandoned mine. Chloe had no doubt they were about to find something a whole lot worse.

The stench was getting even worse. As Max and Chloe entered what seemed like a larger room, Chloe had to press her arm over her nose. _What the fuck?_ What the hell was down there? Was this where the Prescotts disposed of any raw meat that wasn't up to their standards? Now that Chloe thought about it, it wouldn't have shocked her at all if the Prescotts turned out to be werewolves. It would certainly explain Nathan.

Max almost tripped over something. She cried out, grabbing onto Chloe's arm as she stumbled.

Chloe pulled Max close.

“Hey, calm down,” she said. “It's just a shovel.”

She shone the light at the thing to prove it. There it was, old and rusted. Looked like it hadn't been used in a while. But there were probably all kinds of tools down there. Maybe some old machinery as well. This place likely hadn't been cleaned out in centuries. Chloe could almost feel the history.

But then the light landed on something. It looked like a lump of something a few feet away.

“What is _that?”_ said Max.

She headed over to the lump, her curiosity again overwhelming all else. And Chloe thought _she_ was the reckless one. But something about this little adventure of theirs was making Max bolder. It was kind of fun to see. Max had always been such a chicken shit when she was younger.

Chloe started after Max, shining the light as she went. She was looking around, seeking out anything and everything in the darkness. She knew they had the tunnel, but Chloe would have loved some kind of alternate exit. It was getting way too cold in there and she was more under-dressed than Max.

Max let out a small scream.

“Oh shit,” she said. “Oh _shit.”_

Her attention snapping back to Max, Chloe started to jog over. Her heart was pounding out of her chest as she approached. What the hell had Max found? And why did Chloe feel like she knew exactly what it was, somewhere deep in her chest?

Chloe tripped and almost fell, stumbling forward as something hit her ankle. She let out a quiet _“Fuck”,_ aiming the light at whatever it was. She could hear Max talking—muttering “Holy shit” over and over again, probably rocking back and forth with her hands over her mouth—but Chloe was mostly focused on the thing that had nearly tripped her.

Max's voice faded to the back of Chloe's head. It was just static. Noise. Chloe could hear it, could feel it in her chest. But she couldn't hold onto it long enough to hear what Max was saying. She could hear the wind outside, somehow louder than Max's voice. Chloe could feel the tendrils of cold against her skin, like tiny shards digging into her flesh.

There was a body lying on the floor. No, that wasn't right. Because as Chloe raised her light and swept the room again, she realized it wasn't just the one. There were _several_ bodies, each in varying states of decay. Most half-concealed under tarps. That was where the stench had been coming from. The horrible aroma that had let them into this room in the first place.

This wasn't a mine. This was a tomb.


	8. Dead Weight

**Max**

Max had to be dragged out of the mine. Had to be pulled through the tunnel, Chloe's hand firmly encircling her wrist. She didn't want to move. Didn't want to let the fish bowl that was her thoughts overflow. But somehow Max was jerked to her feet, somehow she was led out of that horrible room, somehow Chloe guided her down the tunnel.

Then Max was standing in the Prescott library again. She hardly remembered the trip. For one wonderful moment, she almost felt as if they'd never left. Maybe that whole thing was just a hallucination or a nightmare.

Because something that horrific couldn't have been real, right? Something that disturbing couldn't have been right under their noses the whole time. There couldn't really have been rotting bodies in an abandoned mine while they were all drinking and having fun.

Max looked at her hands. She'd _touched it._ Oh god, she'd fucking _touched it._ Well, she'd touched the tarp. Had pulled it away ever so slightly, enough to expose the half-rotted face. That was what had made her let out that tiny little scream of hers.

How many were there? Ten? Twenty? That room had been huge. Max had felt the largeness of it before they even entered. And if the whole thing was just filled with bodies.... _No._ No way. This couldn't be real. This couldn't be happening. There was no way Max had seen any of that.

“We should call the cops,” she said.

She hardly knew what she was saying anymore. Max was all gut reactions and baseless logic. All she knew was that she'd just found a hidden—or somewhat hidden at least—tunnel leading to a room full of corpses. The smell was still in Max's nose, nearly making her gag.

Chloe was marching out of the library. She hadn't said a single word. Chloe was putting on a brave face, trying to mask how freaked out she was. But Max wasn't fooled. They'd been friends long enough for Max to instinctively know when Chloe was on the edge of breaking down.

She followed Chloe out of the library, down the stairs, and into the living room. Max hardly thought about where they were going and why. Part of her brain was still in that room. Every time she blinked, she saw them lying there, some propped up against the walls. All those tarps. Wrapped up like mummies and left to rot.

“We need to call the police,” said Max.

She stopped in the living room, watching Chloe disappear into the hallway. For a minute, she thought Chloe had left her. And Max wouldn't have blamed her. Max wanted to just leave the house, to throw herself at the mercy of the elements. Because the longer she stood there, the more she understood the depth of this fucked up situation.

Chloe re-entered the living room, holding what looked like her own backpack. It had been in the entrance way with everyone's luggage. Hardly anyone had brought an actual suitcase.

“Fuck that,” said Chloe.

She unzipped her backpack and started digging through it. To the untrained observer, she didn't look entirely effected by the messed up shit they'd seen. But Max could see the fear in Chloe's eyes. That wasn't just everyday fear. That was true, almost mindless _terror._

“You think the cops are going to do anything?” said Chloe.

Max shook her head to clear it. _Fuck._ She just didn't know. Max was spouting easy answers, trying to find some normalcy in all this messed up shit. But there was no normalcy. They were trapped basically in the middle of nowhere with a psychopath and a bunch of dead bodies. Oh god, this was real. This was _real._

“I don't know, but we have to tell someone,” said Max.

Chloe pulled something out of her backpack.

“No way,” she said. “The Prescotts have had this coming for a long time. What we just found proves that. It's time for some real justice.”

Max took an involuntary step back, her eyes darting to the thing Chloe was holding. She almost thought it wasn't real. A prop. But the more she looked, the more she realized it was definitely real. Either that or it was a ridiculously good fake. But Max refused to believe that Chloe had just pulled a gun—an actual real gun—out of her backpack. Just when Max thought this night couldn't get anymore nuts.

“Is that a _gun?”_ she said.

Chloe was checking to make sure it was loaded. It seemed like she knew what was doing, as if she'd held one of these before. But the Chloe Max knew would have never touched a gun. The old Chloe would have sooner carried around a shiv or a butterfly knife.

“Of course it is,” said Chloe. “Do I look stupid? No fucking way am I coming out here without protection.”

She pressed the gun against her palm.

“Now where's that fucker Nathan?” she said.

Max hurried forward and grabbed Chloe's arm, hoping to shake some sense into her. She could barely wrap her head around what she'd seen down in that mine. Now Chloe was just sending Max's overworked brain into absolute chaos.

“ _Chloe,”_ she said. “What is _wrong_ with you? You can't just go around shooting people. What if it wasn't him?”

Chloe laughed.

“Get real,” she said. “You think it was someone else? Who? Daddy Prescott?”

Max opened her mouth, then closed it. She hardly wanted to think about who was responsible for those dead bodies, but Chloe had a point. Who else could have killed all those people and stashed their bodies in that mine? Had to be a Prescott. And Nathan _had_ invited them up there. A picture was forming in Max's head, a picture she didn't like.

She stepped back, raising her hand to her mouth.

“Oh god,” she said. “You don't think _Warren...?”_

Max had almost forgotten about him. But thinking about those bodies again, she suddenly remembered why they'd gone down there in the first place.

Fortunately, Chloe had gotten over the Warren thing. Even if she somehow hadn't, this was no time to be getting pissed off about Max's new friends.

“No way,” said Chloe. “Those were all really old bodies, right? He couldn't have been down there.”

She tried to smile, but just wasn't up to it.

“He's alive, Max,” said Chloe. “But if we want him to stay alive, we need to take out Nathan.”

Max lowered her hand. She really wanted to believe what Chloe was saying. And on some level, she did. It sounded perfectly rational. But at the same time, Max didn't know. Had Warren been down there all along? Could Max have saved him if she'd just stuck by his side instead of worrying about Chloe? No, Max couldn't beat herself up like that. It was just like Chloe said: Warren was alive. Max felt it in her heart.

She stepped towards Chloe.

“Chloe, why did you bring a gun?” she said. “What's going on? What aren't you telling me?”

This wasn't really the time for an interrogation, but Max felt like Chloe had been lying to her. Was that how this new Chloe operated? Did she just lie to her best friend's face all the time?

Chloe looked away, rubbing the back of her neck.

“It's not important,” she said. “Not right now. We need to find Nathan.”

Max folded her arms. Easier said than done. She couldn't even imagine where they should start looking. This house was almost as big as Blackwell Academy.

“No, we need to get out of here,” said Max. “Before we end up like Hayden.”

Chloe flinched, like she'd almost forgotten all about Hayden. Max couldn't blame her. It sounded so incredibly nuts. First Hayden, then the tunnel, then all those bodies. It was just one nightmarish event after the other, like a train wreck in slow motion.

Max was about to suggest a plan of some kind. She wasn't sure what it was, but she opened her mouth anyway. Surely if she stood there long enough, something would come to her. Max had zero faith in her abilities to perform under pressure, but she _had_ to think of something. Because there was no one else. Max was Chloe's only life line.

She was still thinking when she heard the scream. An ear-splitting shriek that seemed to cut right through the air.

Max and Chloe both turned towards where the sound had come from, shocked. Chloe was too startled to even think about raising her gun. Her arm dangled at her side, gun useless as they both heard footsteps rapidly approaching.

Then Victoria Chase came running into the living room, screaming at the top of her lungs. The front of her blouse was covered with blood.

 

**Kate**

Kate was crouched behind one of the shelves, her hands shaking.

She was holding her crowbar in one hand, the other empty. Kate wasn't sure what she was going to do with it, only that she needed to have it. Frank had told her to hide and Kate was more than happy to do just that.

But at the same time, Kate knew this wasn't an ideal situation. Whoever was coming, there was no way Frank could face them alone. Not with his messed up leg, knife or no knife.

Frank was sitting right beside the open doorway, so he had a little bit of an advantage. No way anyone could see him from the hallway. But that also meant he couldn't see who was coming without giving himself away. The same went for Kate, who was too scared to peek. This wasn't exactly a skilled ambush.

Someone entered the brightly lit up. Kate heard what sounded like heavy boots against the concrete floor. Work boots. Like the kind Kate's grandpa wore in his workshop.

Kate had to look. Just one quick peek. She wanted to see this person's face. Wanted to know if it was someone she knew. Kate didn't want to believe it was, but she had to know.

So Kate poked her head out of her hiding place for a split second. Even this tiny window of exposure was too much for her, but she managed to keep herself from gasping out loud.

There was no face. There was only a mask. One of those creepy masks people buy around Halloween. Kate had seen plenty of them at Blackwell's annual Halloween party. A cheap “costume” for those too lazy to put any effort into Blackwell's favorite time of year. This one had a stitched up “mouth” and a pair of eye holes. It looked like it was made of rubber or plastic.

The masked person didn't seem to have noticed Frank. They were standing in the middle of the room, staring straight ahead. Kate wondered what they were looking at. That shelf of cameras? The cabinets?

Frank was being quiet, knife still in his hand. He seemed to have realized that him and Kate had an advantage, although Kate had no idea what he planned to do.

Then very suddenly—without the slightest warning—the masked person turned and sprinted over to where Kate was hiding. Before Kate or Frank could react, the masked person had shoved the shelf over, sending expensive equipment flying.

Kate screamed and stepped back, abruptly face to face with that hideous mask. It was even worse up close. Kate tried to focus on the eyes beneath the mask, to figure out who she was looking at. But she was too scared to actually recognize what little she could see. All she saw was a pair of eyes, filled with a manic fury that made Kate's heart race.

Frank was shouting, trying to get the masked person's attention. But they didn't seem to give a crap about him. They were more interested in Kate, looming over her and backing her into a corner. Nowhere to run. No way for Frank to get to her. Kate was one hundred percent on her own.

It was when the masked person tried to touch her that Kate was finally able to move. The masked person raised a hand as if they were going to grab her face. They were wearing a pair of filthy leather gloves, a detail Kate had initially missed. The rest flashed across her mind in a series of useless snapshots: the thick shirt stained with something dark, the baggy snow pants.

Then Kate was raising the crowbar. She didn't know if the masked person had even seen that she was armed. Maybe they thought she was too scared to actually fight, too much of a weakling to even consider resisting. Well, Kate had learned a lot about herself since coming to Blackwell. And one of the things she'd learned was that she wasn't a coward.

The masked person dodged Kate's first attack, the crowbar connecting with their right shoulder. They stumbled back, clutching at their shoulder and grunting in pain. Kate had no idea what she'd been aiming for.

They reached out to grab her again, but by now Kate's survival instincts had fully kicked in. Her heart was pumping an almost defiant energy through her veins.

Kate swung the crowbar again, this time aiming directly at the person's head. She didn't want to kill them, but she definitely wanted to knock them out. And her wild swing almost hit. _Almost._ It came up ever so slightly short. But slightly was enough. The blow didn't connect, but the masked person backed off even more to escape Kate's range.

She raised the crowbar to strike again. This time she was hoping to get them in the stomach, maybe knock the wind out of them.

The crowbar almost hit them right in the side, but the masked person grabbed it before it could connect. They pulled the crowbar right out of Kate's hands, even as she desperately tried to hold onto it. No luck. One minute Kate was armed, the next the masked person had grabbed her only weapon.

Kate backed away, heading towards Frank. Without her trusty crowbar, Kate had no idea what to do. Run away? The doorway was right there. She could have escaped back into where she'd come from, maybe find however the masked person and had gotten down there and get back into the house.

But that would require leaving Frank there to die. Kate knew that was what he wanted her to do. But Kate absolutely couldn't do that, even for the sake of her own survival.

“The fuck are you doing, kid?” said Frank. “Get out of here.”

He still had the knife in his hand, but he looked a lot more uncertain. He must have realized the state he was in. And one look into his eyes told Kate everything she needed to know: Frank had already accepted his fate. Maybe he'd accepted it way back when he first woke up there.

Kate reached down and took the knife from Frank's hand. He resisted, but only for a second. It wasn't like Frank could do much down there.

She was shaking like a leaf, but this was no time to be scared. No time to think about what was happening. Because Kate knew this could all be over in a minute. She could almost feel the crowbar connecting with her head, that burst of agony before she fell into unconsciousness again. But this time, Kate wouldn't wake up. And Kate's last thought would be about how she wasn't able to save Frank's life.

Kate thrust the knife forward, driving it into the masked person's arm. She wasn't aiming. She was just hoping, just jabbing blindly in whatever direction made sense. And any minute Kate expected her senses to explode, for everything to go dark as her body crumpled to the ground.

Kate saw it so vividly in her head that she thought it had happened. She shut her eyes, waiting for that rush of pain before the world went dark.

But the world didn't go dark. In fact, it remained remarkably bright as the masked person stumbled away from her. They dropped the crowbar, their hand clutching at the knife sticking out of their arm. Looking at their eyes through the mask, Kate could see their shock. And was that _fear?_ Just a brief second of it, darting across the masked person's eyes as they stared at the knife.

The masked person rushed out through the open doorway, still holding the knife handle like they intended to yank it out. They left the crowbar behind, but of course that was the least of their concerns.

Kate sank to the floor. The fact that she was alive and unharmed hadn't really kicked in yet. She also hadn't entirely accepted the fact that she'd just saved Frank's life. Not only Frank's, but her own. Because Kate knew it wasn't her time yet. And it wasn't her friends' time either. Kate needed to find them. She needed to know they were all safe.

Kate took a minute to accept what she'd done. She'd risked her life for Frank, a man she barely knew. A drug dealer and possibly worse. Was it worth it, all because Kate saw a glimmer of kindness in Frank's eyes? Because she believed that there was good in everyone, even people like Frank?

It didn't matter. Kate couldn't take any of that back. And no matter what, she wasn't letting Frank die.

“Holy shit, kid,” said Frank.

He sounded as awestruck as Kate felt.

 

**Stella**

_Holy shit._ There it was.

Stella nearly laughed out loud in relief. But then she remembered Daniel. Remembered that he was missing somewhere out there, that he might not have been as lucky as her. That wiped the smile off Stella's face.

She wrapped her arms around herself. She wanted to cry, but she was afraid her tears would freeze on her face. Stella didn't need anything extra to deal with.

Stella had done everything she could, or at least that's what she told herself. She'd looked. She'd called his name. Stella had tried to go back to the house, but she couldn't find a path. She was entirely blameless. And as far as Stella knew, that person she'd heard moving through the trees _was_ Daniel, which meant he was alive.

But all of that didn't matter. Because Stella had finally found it. The fire station. Stella could finally get in touch with someone. She could save all of them. Be the hero they so desperately needed at a time like this.

Stella couldn't see an entrance at first. But as she approached, she noticed a long twisting flight of wooden stairs. Stella guessed that was how she was supposed to get inside. Fine with her. Stella would climb a hundred stairs to be out of that growing storm.

Stella ascended the stairs. Climbing wasn't exactly her forte. She had to stop a few times and adjust herself to being so relatively far off the ground. But through determination—or something more like desperation—Stella was able to do it. She reached the top of the stairs and sprinted through the entrance. _Safe._

It wasn't warm in the fire station, but Stella hadn't expected it to be. However, it was a hundred times better than being outside. At least it was slightly less cold indoors. Stella wasn't shivering as much. She could focus on her surroundings. And most importantly, Stella was away from whoever or whatever had been following her through the trees.

She spotted the radio immediately. Stella nearly burst into happy tears at the sight of it. _Finally._ This would all be over soon. Stella would be able to go home. They could _all_ go home. And maybe after a few years of therapy, Stella would be able to look back on the events of that night without bursting into tears.

Stella dashed across the room. She'd never used a radio like this before, but Stella was a fast learner. She'd seen enough movies to understand how those things worked. And she knew exactly who she was contacting: the local park ranger station. Hopefully they could have someone up there by sunrise. This nightmare was about to be nothing more than a memory. Stella doubted she was ever going to get over it, but at least she could put it behind her.

At first all Stella heard was static. But even that wasn't enough to dampen her spirits. She was convinced that everything was going to be fine. Well, as fine as they could be, given that one of her fellow Blackwell students was dead.

“Hello?” she said. “Hi? Is anyone there? _Hello?”_

A tense couple of minutes passed, then Stella finally heard a voice on the other end.

“ _Hello? Hello? What's your emergency?”_

Stella would have taken a few seconds to calm down, but her heart was racing too fast.

“Yes, this is Stella Hill!” said Stella. “I'm at the Prescott mountain estate and...Oh _god._ I think someone's after us. Oh god, oh _god._ One of our friends is fucking dead. Or maybe two. Or three. I don't fucking know. You have to get someone up here. _Right fucking now.”_

She was finally starting to cry. Stella didn't even know if what she'd said was coherent. She'd just blurted it all out, each word driving her closer and closer to the edge of her rope. Stella always thought she was the brave one. But she couldn't handle this. No one could.

The park ranger's reply came back in bursts, broken up by the static.

“ _Send someone....storms....can't....will try to.... Ma'am?”_

Stella tried again, speaking louder and more frantically.

“You have to get someone up here,” she said. “One or more of my friends are dead. They're _dead._ Someone is trying to kill us. You have to help.”

Again the response came back in bursts.

“ _....hear....trying.....storm....too dangerous.....police....can't....very sorry....again...”_

Stella's voice rose in panic. Without meaning to, she was beginning to sound completely hysterical.

“We're at the Prescott estate in the mountains,” she said. “Come get us. You have to come get us. Oh god, _please.”_

But the radio went dead halfway through Stella's last sentence. Probably knocked out by the raging storm outside.

Stella fell to her knees in front of the desk. She wanted to pick up the radio and slam it against the wall in frustration, but she knew that wouldn't help. At least she'd gotten through, or at least Stella thought she had. They had to be sending someone, right?

No matter what happened, Stella felt like she was safe. She'd done what she meant to do. They were—probably—sending someone to come get all of them. Just had to wait it out. A few hours. Definitely less than a day. Stella could stay in the fire station. It seemed sturdy enough to withstand the bad weather.

Stella heard what sounded like someone climbing the stairs. She heard it faintly at first, like it was in the back of her head. Then suddenly it was the only sound, relentless and loud in the relative silence. Even the howling wind took a backseat. All Stella cared about were those heavy footsteps.

She got to her feet. Someone was coming up. Someone knew she was in there.

“Daniel?” said Stella.

She turned around, her heart leaping at the possibility. If nothing else, Stella wanted to apologize. Wanted to make it clear that she hadn't left him behind on purpose. Not that it mattered. If he'd actually found the fire tower, then surely it all worked out. Stella couldn't be blamed for anything.

But it wasn't Daniel. It was someone wearing a thick coat. They were bundled up against the cold, the entire bottom half of their face covered by a scarf. They were holding something, an object Stella couldn't quite see.

She never got a chance to see what they were holding. Never got a chance to ask who they were or what they were doing there. But she did get a brief look at their eyes. A split second that imprinted itself in Stella's memory, sending a brief flash of recognition through her brain. Stella opened her mouth, started to say the person's name. But the words never left her throat.

The next thing Stella knew, she was plunging from the fire tower. Past the stairs she'd climbed on her way up. Down all those flights towards the ground below. It was a steep drop. Stella knew she could survive it. The thought came to her like a snapshot, as did all the others following it. It was slim, but there was a chance. This didn't have to be the end. Stella could survive.

But she didn't. That was her last thought, the last sentence that would ever be pumped into her brain: _“This might not kill me.”_ But it did. Maybe there was a chance it wouldn't have, but it did.


	9. Two Birds, One Stone

**Max**

It took Max a few minutes to notice the blood was fake.

After her brain had exploded into panic and confusion, after she'd finished shouting, after she'd backed herself into a corner like she thought Victoria was going to attack her. And a part of her did, because Max still had no idea what was going on.

But the blood wasn't real. It was way too light in color, too evenly distributed. Max had seen fake blood before. Chloe used to mess with it a lot. They'd played some amazing pranks on each other back in the day.

Victoria had stopped screaming. She was standing in the middle of the room, smirking like she'd just pulled off the greatest prank in history. And now that Max really looked at her, Victoria still looked remarkably put together. Hair perfectly styled. Make-up flawless. Other than the fake blood, she was the same old Victoria.

Chloe was the first to speak, jumping in before Max could ask a thousand questions. Chloe sounded like she was about to start throttling Victoria.

“ _You...,”_ she practically snarled.

Chloe started forward, the gun still clutched in her hand.

Max lunged forward and grabbed Chloe, holding her back. She was legitimately convinced that Chloe intended to murder Victoria. No, that wasn't a baseless assumption. Max had seen the violence in Chloe's eyes, the need for revenge.

“Let me go!” said Chloe.

She struggled, but Max was a lot stronger than her. Apparently smoking weed and sleeping all day wasn't good for a girl's health. Back in the day, Chloe could have easily grabbed Max and pinned her against the wall. But somewhere along the way, Max had become more physically fit.

Victoria held up both hands, genuinely shocked.

“What the fuck is your problem?” she said. “It was just a _joke,_ you freaks.”

Chloe stopped struggling for a moment, her face filled with rage.

“A _joke?”_ she said. “You think killing people is a _joke?”_

Victoria backed away. She looked legitimately scared. And honestly, she was right to be terrified. Max had seen Chloe angry. But she'd ever seen Chloe completely enraged beyond reason. Chloe looked like she was prepared to tear Victoria to shreds right there and then. But Max couldn't allow that.

“Calm down, Chloe,” said Max. “Drop the gun. Just....just drop the gun.”

Miraculously, Chloe actually did what she was told. She opened her hand, letting the gun fall to the floor. And to Max's relief, she actually stopped struggling.

“I'm cool, Max,” said Chloe. “You can let go.”

But she didn't sound cool. She sounded like she was still seething, despite having dropped her weapon. Not that Chloe needed a gun. Victoria had probably never fought anyone in her life, but Chloe had experience. She could have easily stomped Victoria's ass into the floor. So even though Max partially let go, she kept a firm grip on Chloe's arm.

“What the hell?” said Victoria. “Are you off your meds or something?”

She folded her arms.

“I didn't kill anyone, dumbass,” she said. “This isn't real blood. It's just a fucking prank.”

Chloe laughed bitterly.

“Tell that to Hayden,” she said.

Victoria put a hand on her hip, rolling her eyes.

“I don't know anything about Hayden,” said Victoria. “What? Did he break something of yours? Not my problem.”

Max spoke quietly, like she was afraid of the words coming out of her mouth. Her and Victoria had always been on opposite sides of Blackwell's hierarchy. And Max had been fine with that, because she didn't want to live in Victoria's world. But if this was a part of Victoria's world? If this was what it meant to be friends with a Prescott? Max actually felt sorry for Victoria.

“Hayden's dead,” said Max.

Victoria tucked a stray hair back into her otherwise impeccable haircut.

“Very funny,” she said.

Max shook her head. Her eyes were starting to burn with impending tears. She was remembering how nice Hayden always was, despite both of them being in completely different social brackets. But Hayden had been more of an adult than anyone gave him credit for. The fact he stuck up for Nathan had done nothing to dampen Max's opinion of him.

“It's not a joke, Victoria,” said Max. “His body's in the bar. We were too scared to move him.”

Victoria looked like she was about to call bullshit, but the look on Max's face was enough to stop her. They'd never been anything close to friends. That was just how it was at Blackwell. But unlike most of the other people Victoria hung around, Max had no reason to lie right to her face.

Max watched Victoria disappear into the bar. She waited a minute or two, then let go of Chloe's arm. Max didn't want to see Hayden's body again. She really didn't. But Max also felt like she needed to be there. Even though they weren't friends, it was the kind of thing Max would have wanted someone to do for her.

By the time Max was in the bar, Victoria had already seen it. Wasn't hard to miss. Hayden was still lying on the floor, face up and very clearly dead. Even from where they stood, they could both see the stab wound and the bruise on Hayden's head.

Victoria was standing a few inches from the doorway, hand over her mouth. She looked like she was about to throw up. Max had never seen Victoria so throughly shaken. Victoria always looked and acted so in control of everything, like she was the boss at any given time. But there was no trace of that Victoria Chase. Just a rightfully terrified eighteen-year-old girl.

“Oh my _god,”_ Victoria managed.

Max put her hands on Victoria's shoulders. She didn't know what to say. It didn't get easier with time. And it definitely wasn't any less hard the first time around. Even after encountering that room of dead bodies, Max still felt her stomach turning.

“There's more,” said Max. “A lot more. In the abandoned mine. There's a room full of them.”

She carefully guided Victoria out of the bar.

Chloe was standing where Max had left her. She'd retrieved the gun from the floor and was holding it, but she didn't look like she was prepared to use it. It seemed to have finally clicked. As much as Chloe was out for blood, it was obvious that Victoria wasn't responsible for any of this.

Max helped Victoria onto the couch.

“You need anything?” said Max. “Some water?”

She couldn't believe she was comforting someone, as opposed to being comforted herself. Max felt like she'd dealt with way worse shit than just seeing a dead body. But as it stood, Max had to be the one doling out sympathy and comfort. No one else in the room was up for it.

Victoria slumped in her seat, her eyes wide and unfocused. She looked drunk or high, but Max was confident she was neither. If she had been, Victoria would have sobered up in an instant.

“A room?” she said.

Max bit her lip. She really shouldn't have brought that up. But Victoria was going to find out sooner or later, right? Not that the idea made Max feel any better. Max could have gone her whole life without knowing the grim truth about Nathan Prescott.

On the other hand, who was to say Victoria wasn't on Nathan's hit list? Max had to be upfront. She'd never believed in this petty rivalry in the first place. Now it turned out that Victoria Chase was human after all.

“Yeah,” said Max. “There's a secret tunnel in the library and... I'm so sorry, Victoria.”

Victoria shook her head. Max couldn't be sure Victoria had heard a word she said.

“No,” said Victoria. “Nathan didn't... What are you even saying? It was just a joke.”

Max sat down next to Victoria. She was starting to get all deductive again, but mostly as a distraction. The more questions she asked, the less Max had to think about the room of corpses. And even though she was still recovering from that, Max really did want to know what the fuck was going on.

“What was a joke?” she said.

Victoria took a minute to answer. She wrapped her arms around herself and hung her head. For a second, Max thought Victoria was going to start crying. Max didn't know how she was meant to react if Victoria Chase just started bawling in front of her.

But Victoria didn't cry. Either she was more detached than Max thought or the full horror of the situation hadn't sunk in yet.

“The whole thing,” said Victoria. “Nathan said it would be funny. Invite all of you losers up here and convince you the place was haunted. I wasn't into it, but Nathan thought it was going to be hilarious. He set up cameras and everything.”

She let out a weak laugh.

“I was supposed to feed you some bullshit story about a serial killer who died in the basement,” said Victoria. “But I got a little side-tracked getting everything ready. So I decided to change the plan a little. Guess it didn't work.”

She lifted her head. Victoria wasn't crying, but she looked like she wanted to.

“I....I didn't think Nathan would...,” said Victoria.

She swallowed hard.

“I swear I didn't know,” said Victoria. “I didn't know anything about Hayden. I just... _Why?”_

Victoria shot Max a look. Her eyes were filled with desperation.

Max used to think Victoria and Nathan were the alphas of Blackwell Academy. United in their reign of terror. A reluctant partnership borne from a shared goal: ruling the school. But now Max was seeing it from the other side. Victoria wasn't just some asshole looking for Prescott power. She genuinely loved and cared about Nathan. The same way Max loved and cared about Chloe.

“Are you _sure_ it was Nathan?” said Victoria.

Max shook her head.

“No,” she said. “But it's not just Hayden. Warren is missing. So is Kate. And we have no idea where Dana is. Eliot went looking for them. Stella and Daniel went to find help. Whoever it is, we're all in danger.”

Chloe finally spoke, throwing up her hands and shooting Max a look of disbelief.

“Of course it was fucking Nathan!” she said. “Who else could have been casually dumping bodies in an abandoned mine? Who invited us all here? Nathan's a fucking psycho. He killed Hayden and now he's after us.”

Victoria jumped to her feet.

“I know Nathan can be a little weird sometimes, but he's not a killer,” she said. “I don't know what you found, but...”

Chloe interrupted. She'd clearly had enough of Victoria's shit. And Max wanted to get in between them, but she had no idea what to say.

“You still don't get it, do you?” said Chloe. “Nathan Prescott is fucked up. He killed Rachel, he killed Hayden, and now he's probably going to kill all of us. Get that through your thick skull, then maybe we can talk.”

Victoria looked baffled.

“Rachel?” she said. “Nathan didn't...”

But Chloe wasn't listening. She was storming out of the living room, gun at her side. She'd apparently decided that her trusty firearm was her only real ally. Max tried to say something, but Chloe kept moving without so much as glancing at Max. Nothing anyone said was going to get through to her and Max knew it.

Chloe paused in the doorway. She turned around, a bitter smile on her face.

“Okay,” said Chloe. “You guys work on your escape plan or whatever. I'm going to get some _real_ justice.”

She turned and left the living room.

Max didn't like the fact that Chloe was now wandering around the estate with a gun, but there wasn't much she could say or do. A part of her wanted to believe that Chloe wouldn't shoot anyone. And maybe that was partially true. Because the old Chloe couldn't stand firearms.

But this new, angrier, sadder Chloe? Max didn't know. This Chloe seemed capable of anything. And Max wasn't sure she knew how to save Chloe from herself.

**Kate**

Kate was sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at her hands.

She'd washed them in the sink—thank the heavens for there being one down in this basement area—but Kate swore she could still smell the blood. Just a little of it. Kate had seen blood before. She'd spent a whole month on her uncle's farm one summer. Kate had witnessed animals being slaughtered, had seen exactly where her dinner was coming from. That experience had kickstarted her descent into vegetarianism, but the blood wasn't what had effected her the most.

Kate had never stabbed anyone before. Had never imagined she'd be put into a situation that would require it. But she'd done it so easily, like a part of her had been waiting for the chance. All it took was thinking about her friends.

And Kate wasn't sure how she should feel about that. She wasn't sure if she wanted the masked person dead or alive. The moral part of her wished for the latter simply because Kate didn't want to be responsible for someone's death. But the rational part of her knew the masked person wanted to hurt her friends.

“I hope Alice is okay without me,” said Kate.

It was a silly thing to worry about. But she'd been sitting there for quite a while. She meant to rest for a few minutes. But Kate had lost track of time. Too many thoughts. Not enough space in her head.

Frank hadn't moved either, but of course he had no choice in the matter.

“Girlfriend?” he said.

Kate lowered her hands.

“No, she's my rabbit,” said Kate. “A birthday present. I have someone taking care of her. I hope she's alright.”

Frank smiled, but there was no humor in it. He'd been on the edge of that fight, yet he looked equally worn out. Probably because of his leg. Kate had seen injuries like that on the farm. They usually didn't end too well for the animal involved.

“I've got a dog,” said Frank. “Pompidou. Hired some girl to pet-sit for me while I came up here. She better be feeding him right.”

Frank sighed.

“I promised Pompidou I'd come back,” he said. “He's the only living thing in the world that means anything to me. Had a girl once. Loved her with all my heart. But of course she left me. They all do. Except Pompidou. He's a good boy.”

He sounded so affectionate when he talked about his dog. Kate found it hard to believe he was a sleazy drug dealer who lived in a dingy RV. But as Samuel the janitor liked to say, people were rarely one thing. Human beings were endlessly complex.

_Samuel._ Another person who'd probably miss Kate if she were to die in this place. A lot of other students steered clear of Samuel, but Kate never thought he was creepy. Even when the rumors about Rachel's death started floating around and Samuel got caught in the crossfire, Kate just couldn't get behind the mud-slinging. And if she were to die at the Prescott mountain estate, that would be one less person for poor Samuel to talk to.

And on a more personal level, _Kate_ didn't want to die there. She'd been counting out her regrets, letting each and every sin find a place in her head. Kate had decided she was going to try to make amends. Work through what she'd done wrong and maybe even tell her friends. But first, Kate had to actually find her friends. She had to get out of there.

Kate picked up her crowbar and stood up. There had to be another door. Some exit she'd missed. Because Kate wasn't going after the masked person to figure out where they'd come in. Kate didn't think she could handle that.

The outskirts of the room mostly consisted of shelves and cabinets. Could there be a door or something behind there?

Kate started moving cabinets and shelves. It was a slow process. That surge of adrenaline had worn off a while ago. Now Kate had nothing to work with other than her base strength. No help from Frank due to his current condition.

_Yes._ There actually _was_ another door. It was completely hidden behind a large cabinet that was absolute hell to move, but there it was. Looked like it hadn't been used in a long time, but it was definitely a way out. An overlooked escape route. _Perfect._

“Found something?” said Frank.

Kate smiled. A real smile.

“Yeah, it's a door,” she said. “The handle looks kind of broken though. It won't budge.”

Frank thought about that for a minute. He clearly wasn't suited to sitting around and doing sweet FA. Frank was like a bird with a broken wing.

“Broken, huh?” he said. “I guess we can...”

He didn't get to finish his sentence.

Kate jammed her crowbar into the space between the door and the wall. One thing she'd subconsciously learned while on the farm: crowbars were an all-around must for almost every bad situation. Kate had zero experience using them to open doors, but she knew the basic technique. Wasn't a lot of space between the door and the wall. Just enough to get the crowbar in. Enough to loosen the door in its frame.

It wasn't a very sturdy door to begin with, so Kate didn't break her arms trying to get the damn thing open. But it _was_ a chore. By the time Kate had driven a big enough wedge between door and wall, Kate's hands were all red and slightly bruised from clutching the crowbar so tight. It didn't help that Kate wasn't used to this kind of work. She'd done very little actual work on her uncle's farm. Mostly carrying pails of milk and chasing chickens.

Kate groaned, letting the crowbar fall to the ground. But despite the pain in her hands, Kate couldn't stop there. After only a few seconds of hesitation, she reached forward and jammed her hands into the space between door and wall. Groaning in exertion, Kate managed to pull the door open. It resisted at first, but Kate poured all of her strength into it. She managed to get it open, revealing a long passage.

She collapsed backwards.

Were those _stairs?_ They looked like stairs. Stairs leading up. Stairs leading out of this terrifying basement.

**Max**

Max had so many questions, but she was afraid to ask most of them.

Her biggest question—the one Victoria definitely couldn't answer—was _why?_ Why did Nathan arrange all of this? Why did he decide to go full psycho now of all times? Why _them?_ Was it just because the anniversary of Rachel's death was drawing near?

Max had no idea if Stella and Daniel had made it to the fire tower. They were all scattered. Chloe was god-knows-where doing god-knows-what, Warren was just gone, Stella and Daniel were off hopefully finding help, Eliot was off trying to find Kate and Warren, Dana was gone.

Victoria was sitting on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. Still no tears. She'd been staring at nothing for almost ten minutes, looking dazed. If Victoria was anything like Max, she was trying to ascend to a higher plane of existence, just astral project to some distant universe where none of this was happening.

“Is there any way out of here?” said Max. “A car or something?”

She knew that was a dumb suggestion. Like they could have gotten a car down the mountain, especially in this weather. But Max was clinging to the idea of some secure mode of transport. A piece of good news to soften the blow.

Victoria lowered her head. She snorted.

Max thought Victoria was going to say something snarky. She almost wanted her to. An argument would have been the perfect distraction.

“Snowmobiles,” said Victoria. “In the shed.”

Max hadn't expected an actual answer. She tried not to get her hopes up, but her heart leaped. Okay, snowmobiles. Not the best escape plan in existence, but Max was clutching at straws. And maybe snowmobiles were enough? Maybe if they just got far enough away, everything would be fine? Never mind their luggage. Max could buy new clothes, but she couldn't bring herself back from the dead.

“Okay, so we can get out of here,” said Max. “Good.”

Victoria laughed.

“Yeah, right,” she said. “Through this bullshit weather? Get real, _Maxine._ Or do you have a death wish?”

Max tried to picture herself hopping on a snowmobile and riding off into the sunset, but she just couldn't. On the one hand, she'd never ridden one of those things and had no idea if it was something she could deal with in her current state. But on the other hand, Max was getting desperate and Victoria had dropped a solution into her lap. A flimsy solution, but it was something Max could grab onto.

“Where's Nathan?” said Max. “You were with him, right?”

Victoria shrugged.

“He said he was going to the camera room,” she said.

Max frowned. Despite what she'd told Chloe, she was ninety-nine percent convinced this was all Nathan's doing. She didn't understand why, but she was almost sure it was him. The fact that Max didn't want Chloe to go around shooting people didn't change that.

“Camera room?” said Max.

Victoria stood up. She was doing the worst job of hiding how upset she was. Shaking like a leaf, her signature smirk long gone. Maybe she wasn't even trying to hide it. What was the point? They were all freaked out. Victoria had no reason to feign superiority.

Max had never understood why Victoria even bothered in the first place. What did Victoria get out of acting like she was above everyone else, especially when she so clearly wasn't?

Victoria walked over to the room's only bookcase, the one Chloe had been standing in front of. Victoria stuck her hand between the bookcase and the wall. With a single grunt of exertion, she opened the bookcase like a door. It swung forward to reveal what looked like another tunnel.

“Wowzers,” said Max.

Victoria went in first, ducking to avoid the low ceiling.

“Lots of secret rooms in this place,” said Victoria. “The Prescotts love their secrets.”

The words hit a more somber note than Victoria intended.

Max followed. There was barely any space between the walls. If Max had been even slightly unsettled by small spaces, there was no way she would have gone in there. Max felt like she was being squeezed from both sides, even though there was still enough room to move.

Why had the Prescotts even built all this? Sure, the house itself made sense. Nice and isolated. Perfect for Sean Prescott, whom Max assumed was one of those paranoid rich guys. But all these secret rooms and tunnels? _Why?_ There had to be a reason beyond Nathan's supposed murder spree.

There was a door with a combination lock at the end of the corridor. Victoria typed in a four digit code, causing the door to swing inward. Max hadn't expected something so high tech. She was again in awe at the amount of bank the Prescotts had dropped on this second house.

Max was happy to get out of that corridor. She stretched as she emerged, enjoying the sheer amount of extra space in the open room.

This was obviously the control center. A desk and a whole wall lined with cameras. A bunch of full-length lockers right across from the door. Mini fridge in the corner. This was a base of operations if Max had ever seen one.

Victoria immediately went over to the desk and started messing with the keyboard. This set-up was impressive, but over half of the cameras seemed to be off-line.

“Fucking cheap tech,” said Victoria.

Max raised an eyebrow.

“Cheap tech?” she said. “In the Prescott house? Surely you jest.”

Victoria was leaning over the desk, angrily tapping keys. She clearly had zero idea what she was doing. Max couldn't really judge. Not a computer person herself, despite being a registered geek. Warren and Brooke were the tech nerds.

“Oh shut up,” said Victoria. “You think Nathan's dad knows about any of this stuff? News flash, Maxine. Nathan had to pay some shady guy a shitload of cash to get all of this. And of course the fucker totally stiffed him.”

She sounded genuinely angry, like Nathan getting a bad deal on some tech was the hottest headline of the night. Up until less than an hour ago, it had been. Max couldn't even imagine what was going on in Victoria's head. Probably absolute chaos.

“Work, dammit!” said Victoria.

She slammed her palm against the keyboard, almost knocking it off the desk. Groaning in frustration, Victoria hung her head and pounded a fist against the desk.

The aggressive behavior briefly threw Max for a loop. This brand new Victoria—angry, violent, miserable—seemed to have emerged from nowhere, but Max knew better. In a messed up way, Max was reminded of Chloe.

Max put her hand on Victoria's shoulder.

“It's going to be okay,” she said.

Victoria let out a cry of disgust, like something gross had touched her. She slapped Max's hand away and spun around. Victoria looked completely furious. Max never thought she'd see Victoria so enraged.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” said Victoria. “You just told me my best friend is a murderer. It's not going to be _okay._ Nothing you say is going to make this better. So just shut your fucking mouth, Max Caulfield.”

She raised her hand. For one awful moment, Max thought Victoria was going to just deck her right in the face. But Victoria lowered her hand, letting out a frustrated sigh. She definitely looked like she _wanted_ to punch Max, but she was holding back for whatever reason. Maybe she was rightfully scared of what Chloe might do to her.

Victoria shoved Max out of the way and headed over to the lockers.

“We have some emergency flares,” she said. “Take them and get the hell out of my face, okay?”

She tried to open one of the lockers, but the lock seemed to be busted. Victoria sighed in frustration again, shoving her foot against the locker and giving the handle another hard tug. It looked like someone had tried to bash the lock in. They hadn't done a particularly good job. Max guessed Nathan had done that during one of his famous rich boy tantrums.

“We need to work together,” said Max.

Gritting her teeth, Victoria pulled harder.

“What you need to do is leave me alone,” she said. “Can you get that through your thick skull? Leave. Me. The. Fuck. _Alone_.”

At the last word, Victoria gave one final yank. Victoria stumbled backwards as the locker flew open.

Emergency flares. That was what Victoria said would be in there. Max heard the words in her head, over and over again like a chant. Her mind got stuck on repeat, looping those words like they meant more than they did. Because Max didn't think the emergency flares were actually going to help. And she doubted Victoria thought so either. It was just a ploy to get Max out of her hair.

Max cried out in panic, backing away and pressing her hand against her mouth. She could feel something stuck in her throat. Maybe it was a scream. Maybe it was a sob. Whatever it was, she could feel it sitting there. A lump of something cold, almost choking her. Max couldn't speak. Max didn't want to ground herself. She preferred to drift, barely tethered to this awful reality.

Victoria stumbled backwards and fell on her ass. It would have been funny if not for the circumstances.

Every event of that night had been a punch in the gut. Hayden's dead body, the room of corpses, Chloe's gun. Max still felt dizzy. But the night wasn't over yet. Maybe it would never be over. Maybe this was Max's karma for every bad thing she'd ever done. Maybe this was Rachel's revenge from beyond the grave.

Stuffed into that small locker—his face drained of color and the left side of his head caved in—was Warren Graham. Someone had bashed his head in. Someone had stuffed him into that locker like they were storing a doll. Someone had left him there to rot.

Max had never had a chance. From the very beginning, her search meant nothing. Because she could tell just by looking at him: Warren had been dead for a long while. Without realizing it, Max had been looking for a corpse.


	10. The Prescott Murder House

**Chloe**

Chloe had come there to do one thing and she'd be damned if she didn't get it over with.

But where could that weasel be hiding? The mine? The shed out back? Chloe didn't know. She wished she had Max's big brain to help her out. Chloe should have gotten used to being alone. But then again, Max's return had convinced her that she'd never be alone again. Clearly she was wrong.

Max didn't seem to get it. Or if she did, she was being purposefully ignorant. Probably afraid of her former best friend turning into a murderer. What Max didn't realize was how few shits Chloe gave. As long as she took Nathan Prescott down with her, Chloe was ready.

She decided to try the shed first. The mine was a maze and Chloe wasn't betting on her navigational skills. Not without Max. And if Nathan was in the mine? Well, good for him. He could get lost and die down there.

The cold hit Chloe even worse this time around, but she didn't pause. No time to think about freezing to death. No time to complain about Max's sorry excuse for a coat. Chloe had a gun and a mission. Two things she never thought she'd have in her life. But Chloe had stowed her “no guns ever” stance when she realized just how fucked up Arcadia Bay was. Chloe had to keep herself safe, even if David the Dickhead thought she was irresponsible.

Chloe went out the back door this time. She spotted the wood pile near the door. That was where Eliot must have gotten the wood for the fire.

_Eliot._ Chloe felt sorry for him. Just thinking about him scouring the house for Warren and Dana made her feel bad. But why did he insist on following her out there? Why was he always tailing her and talking shit about anyone Chloe spoke to? Chloe couldn't quite read Eliot.

The shed was easy to spot. Huge building a few feet off from the house, old but somehow still standing. Chloe envied it. She wished she was that stable. But every time Chloe wondered how she was keeping herself standing, her thoughts always turned to Max. This quest of hers wasn't enough. Seeing Max's face again was what made Chloe want to keep going.

Chloe smiled to herself. _Holy shit._ Was this fucked up adventure of theirs making Chloe _forgive_ Max? Was this really how they rebuilt their friendship? Well, clearly not, seeing as Chloe was alone and Max was off somewhere with Victoria of all people. Regardless, Chloe felt something between them. Something new and kind of scary.

Someone had locked up the shed from the outside. Doors were bolted. That wasn't too unusual. There was no telling what was stashed in there. Chloe predicted a dozen more dead bodies. That seemed to be the night's theme.

She unbolted the doors, gun at the ready. Chloe had never shot anyone before. She'd done a bunch of target practice at the junkyard. All in all, Chloe thought she was a medium-good shot. She'd wasted a lot of bullets shooting at glass bottles, but Chloe was confident that she could hit a target if it was close enough.

Chloe kicked the doors open and walked into the shed. Despite her confidence, her hands were shaking. The thought of being ambushed by Nathan Prescott had just crept into her mind. If Chloe was being honest, she was completely terrified of that little weasel. There was something so inhuman about him, like he might be bulletproof. And if he was, Chloe was out of ideas.

The first thing she heard was the grinding of heavy machinery. Chloe furrowed her brow, slightly lowering her gun as the noises pulsed in her head. How the fuck hadn't she heard that from outside? Sounded like Dickhead David working on his car, except a thousand times worse. Less than a minute and it was already giving Chloe a serious headache.

“Nathan?” she said.

The lights were on, but she didn't see anyone at first. Chloe was trying to find a switch or a lever. Something to shut off whatever was making that awful noise.

She almost missed the figure huddled in the corner. Chloe initially passed over it, assuming it was a bundle of clothes or something. But then it moved. A subtle twitch that Chloe almost missed. She spun to face it, aiming her gun.

It was Dana. She was pressed up against the wall, her shoulders shaking as she stared into her lap. From where she stood, Chloe could see that Dana's hands were tied behind her back and her hair was a mess. Looked like she'd gotten into some kind of fight.

Chloe rushed over, her heart pounding out of her chest. Back when they'd gone to Blackwell together, she'd barely given a crap about Dana. They weren't friends and were never going to run in the same circles. But Chloe had always respected Dana for being, well, the opposite of a stereotypical cheerleader.

“Hey, hey, you okay?” said Chloe.

Dana raised her head. She didn't answer, but she didn't really need to. Her black eye said it all.

Chloe started untying Dana's hands. A knife would have been three times more efficient, but screw that. There was no way Chloe was just leaving Dana there. Maybe that was how Max operated, but Chloe had decided that no one was getting left behind.

Her hands shook. _Ugh._ Why did Max have to choose Victoria? Why was Max siding with that asshole over her supposed best friend? But that was classic Max, right? Always leaving Chloe behind. Slow on the uptake. Throwing her best friend under the bus.

So why wasn't Chloe more furious? Why was she still determined to get both of them out of this, even though Max was being the worst?

“Who did this to you?” said Chloe. “Nathan?”

Dana finally spoke, her voice shaking. Chloe had to lean close to hear Dana over the heavy machinery.

“I don't know,” she said. “Mask. He was wearing a mask.”

She let out a deep breath.

“I think he went down below,” said Dana. “He'll be back. He's coming back. Chloe, you have to...”

Chloe undid the final knot, freeing Dana's hands. She'd barely heard a word Dana said, except for the second-to-last sentence.

“Go,” said Chloe. “Find Max and Victoria.”

Dana stood up, rubbing her wrists. There were light red marks from where the ropes had dug into her skin.

“What about you?” said Dana. “That guy...”

She stopped, noticing the gun in Chloe's hand.

Chloe turned away from Dana. Max might not understand, but Chloe knew what she had to do. A long time ago, Chloe had made a choice. She could either sit on her ass and wait for justice or she could take the law into her own hands.

The discovery of Nathan's dark secret had propelled the second option into first place. This wasn't just for Rachel. This was for all the people who'd met a grisly end at the Prescotts' idyllic mountain estate.

Chloe knew Nathan Prescott had killed Rachel. The police might have dropped the investigation, but Chloe felt it in her gut. It was Nathan who'd drugged Rachel, who'd killed her, who'd buried her body in that junkyard.

And no matter what else went down that night, Chloe was going to get her revenge.

 

**Max**

Max was sitting on the couch, both hands pressed against her mouth. For the last ten minutes, she'd been expecting herself to vomit. But even though her stomach kept churning, she still hadn't expelled her dinner all over the pristine floor.

Victoria had her arms folded, her back pressed against the wall. That was two dead bodies in less than an hour. _Two._ Victoria looked like she was about to either break down or pass out.

Max wished she would just cry or vomit. Or both. She could feel it all bubbling up inside of her, but so far nothing had come out.

This was all her fault. If only she hadn't come. If only Max had been more insistent about Warren staying behind, had convinced him that she'd be okay. Or maybe Max shouldn't have let him drink, should have paid more attention to Warren and less to Chloe. Because Chloe was still alive, but Warren was lying dead in some hidden monitoring room. Either way, this was all Max's fault and no one could convince her otherwise.

“Why did Nathan invite us here?” said Max. “Why _us?”_

She said it out loud, but she wasn't expecting an answer. Victoria had already explained it, yet Max was still puzzled. And focusing on something so mundane distracted her from the image of Warren's dead body. She knew Warren had died snooping. And if Max couldn't figure this out, Warren had basically died for nothing.

What did all the guests have in common? Absolutely nothing. Maybe Kate, Max, and Warren. Max could add in Stella and Daniel if she was being generous, but the others completely broke the chain. And Warren wasn't even supposed to come, Max grimly reminded herself.

And why _Chloe?_ Chloe fucking Price, Blackwell drop-out. Pretty much the only thing Chloe and Nathan had in common was Rachel. They'd both known her, had both talked to her. But what did that have to do with the rest of them?

_Rachel._ Why did everything come back to her? Max knew basically nothing about the girl, yet she was always just _there._ Standing at the center of this whole mess.

Max's heart rate increased. _Rachel._ Was there something Max had missed? Something about Rachel? Rachel and Chloe, the best of friends. More than friends. And Nathan, obsessed with Rachel to an unhealthy extent. Pining after her when she probably wouldn't give him the time of day. Rachel was always clinging to _Chloe,_ never giving Nathan a chance. And then gone, vanished and eventually found dead.

Max shut her eyes. What did everyone on the guest list have in common, or at least almost everyone on the guest list? _Rachel._

Dana and Hayden had been in the drama club with Rachel. Chloe had loved Rachel and spent a lot of time with her. Daniel had drawn a portrait of Rachel for a school project and referred to her as his “muse”. And Stella? Stella seemed to know stuff about everyone and she had a knack for memorization. Perfect for keeping an eye on the guests and reporting directly to Nathan.

But what about Max and Kate? There was probably some connection with Kate, but Max Caulfield? Had Nathan invited her to make sure Chloe accepted the invitation? Something to sweeten the pot?

Despite the holes in her theory, Max was one hundred percent convinced. This was all about Rachel Amber.

But why kill everyone? Did Nathan legitimately believe that everyone there had something to do with Rachel's death? If this was all about suspicions, why not just go after Chloe? Or was Nathan simply taking out anyone and everyone who might have had a hand in ending Rachel's life? Everyone connected to her because there was always a chance—a slim chance—that they might have had something to do with it?

Max put her head in her hands. _Holy shit._ If she was right, Nathan was truly psychotic. And the worst part? He was still out there. Wandering around the house, probably skulking through those secret passages and hidden rooms.

“Victoria, we have to get out of here,” she said.

Her mouth was dry. Max felt like she'd said those words a dozen times, but the need was becoming more urgent with each passing minute. She remembered what Victoria had said about the snowmobiles and was hopeful, but not very much. With what had happened to Warren, Max was starting to believe she didn't deserve to get out of this alive.

Victoria threw up her hands.

“With _what?”_ she said. “Even if we somehow make it to the cable station, the bus isn't coming back until Monday. You really think we can hike back to Arcadia Bay through this bullshit?”

As if to punctuate her point, the wind picked up again. It sounded like hell out there.

Victoria was right. Max was positive that she—or anyone else for that matter—would freeze to death a mile or so before the cable station. Their only real hope was a rescue helicopter, but who knew if Stella and Daniel had made it to the fire station?

Max swallowed hard. _Stella and Daniel._ No walkie-talkies and phones didn't work up there. No way to know if either of them were safe. They could have gotten lost. Could have been killed before they even reached the station. And unless someone else was willing to make the trek, that pretty much closed off their only possible method of getting a message out.

Max stood up. Okay, new plan. Well, old plan. Get the snowmobiles from the shed. Try to get to the cable station. Hopefully take the cable car down the mountain and get some kind of help. There had to be _someone._ All Max needed to do was get away from the Prescott estate and find them.

She no longer gave a shit about what Nathan was up to. Max just wanted to get herself and everyone else away from this place. Get them away before they ended up like Warren or Hayden. That was the best Max could hope for at this point.

 

**Kate**

Getting Frank up the stairs was going to be a chore. But there was no way Kate was leaving him, even though Frank insisted.

“Come on, I'll stay,” he kept saying. “In case that masked bastard comes back. I'll take care of him. Give you a clean getaway.”

They both knew that wasn't going to happen. Sure, the guy was injured. But so was Frank. Kate wouldn't bet on those odds, even if the masked guy had a knife sticking out of him.

From what little Kate knew from medical dramas, a knife wound like that probably wasn't going to be fatal. Unless the masked person bled out, which seemed unlikely. There had to be a med kit or something in that massive basement area. So Kate could walk away with a semi-clear conscience.

It was slow going. Frank was clearly tired and probably lying through his teeth about amount of pain he was in. Kate practically had to drag him up the stairs one by one, pausing every ten seconds or so. Frank trusted her with his life and Kate was more than prepared to give maximum effort, even if her arms were starting to hurt.

They did finally reach the end of the stairs. It took about ten or fifteen minutes, Kate constantly pausing to gather herself. Would have taken a lot less time if Kate had been physically stronger and less exhausted. But she did it.

Kate tapped her crowbar against the door. She was amazed she still had the thing with her. Kate wasn't even sure what she needed it for anymore, especially since it wasn't making her task any easier. If Kate had to guess, holding it made her feel like she wasn't walking into the unknown unprepared. She couldn't imagine how badly that fight would have gone if she'd been unarmed.

She dropped the crowbar for a minute and grabbed the doorknob. Kate felt like collapsing or taking another break, but she was _so close._ If she was correct, the house was behind that door. The house and her friends and probably a first aid kit. Likely Nathan Prescott, but Kate didn't care. She felt like she could handle Nathan.

The door was unlocked. Kate suspected this wasn't the main entrance to the basement. Looked like a mostly unused second way in, maybe even the original. But why? Why would the Prescotts build something so convoluted?

She shoved the door open with her foot. Kate flinched as it swung inward. The creaking wasn't especially loud, but it pounded in Kate's ears. She felt certain someone heard. Felt certain _Nathan_ heard.

But Kate didn't care. She flung herself and Frank through the doorway. The room was cold and far too bright, but Kate knew immediately that they were one hundred percent back in the house. This room had none of the sterility or sinister undertones of the massive basement area.

“Oh _fudge,”_ Kate burst out.

She gently eased Frank to the floor. Then she sat down herself, crowbar in her hand.

They were out. They were actually out. And they were both alive, despite all odds. _Geez._ What kind of night was this? What kind of _place_ was this?

They were in a medium-sized room that seemed to contain a few chairs, a desk, and a painting.

Kate squinted at the painting. Something about it struck a cord of familiarity. Who was that girl? Why were Kate's eyes drawn to that bright blue feather hanging from her ear? And why did Kate feel like she'd seen that feather a dozen times?

Frank groaned, shifting his position on the floor. He too was looking at the painting. Frank hissed out a name between his teeth.

“Rachel,” he said.

_Of course._ It immediately clicked in Kate's head. _Rachel Amber._ That poor girl who went missing. The feather earring had been prominent in pretty much every photo of her. It made sense Kate would remember it.

_Wait._ Why in the world was there a painting of Rachel Amber at the Prescott mountain estate? And come to think of it, why was Rachel's name on that binder in the basement area? Thinking about it was making Kate very uncomfortable. Sure, there might have been an innocent explanation for that. Some weird thing Rachel herself had instigated. But Kate had a feeling that there was something else going on, something she should have figured out by now.

The desk wasn't empty. From what Kate could see, there were two more of those binders and a stack of paper.

Kate went over to the desk. She knew finding a first aid kit for Frank was top priority, but her curiosity had been fully awakened. They'd spent so much time in that basement area and learned hardly anything.

The stack of paper wasn't too interesting at first glance. Just a bunch of old notebook pages, words scrawled both outside and inside the margins. Kind of chaotic. All different colors of ink, words crossed out, random scribbles all over the page. Not just pens and pencils. Markers and even what looked like a brief attempt at calligraphy. It was a mess and Kate was fascinated by it.

She picked up the first page and tried to read whatever the heck was written on it. All she could make out was Rachel's name, followed by two other words. She had to read over it a dozen times to finally decipher them.

_Rachel my goddess._

The rest of the papers were exactly the same. Same chaotic writing, same array of writing utensils, same mangled words and crossed out sentences, same scribbles. But they all began with the exact same words: _Rachel my goddess._ Whoever had written these, they seemed very interested in Rachel. No, not interested. _Obsessed._ Kate could barely read anything she saw, but she was able to make out certain words after some trial and error: _burning, heat, fire, love, heart, butterflies, worship, darkness._ Other than that, Kate was lost.

She shuddered. Had _Nathan_ written all of these? Had Nathan commissioned that painting? Just how obsessed was he with Rachel? Kate had heard rumors about Nathan's huge crush on Rachel Amber, but this? This was like something out of a slasher movie.

Kate refocused her attention. The papers were freaky enough on their own, but what about the binders? Both were unmarked, but Kate could tell they weren't empty. Someone—the masked person maybe—had brought them up there. For safe keeping or to work on them?

She flipped the first one open. Kate didn't know exactly what she expected. Probably photographs. She knew Nathan was into photography. And if he really had been obsessed with Rachel, he'd likely asked to take pictures of her. And of course Rachel Amber would have agreed. Kate knew very little about Rachel, but she seemed to love having her picture taken. Wouldn't have taken much for Nathan to coax her into a private session.

Kate stumbled back from the desk, her hand pressed over her mouth. What the...? What the _hell?_ Why would Nathan have...? What the hell was going on? What was this room? Why did Nathan have a painting of Rachel? Why did Nathan have.... _that?_

Frank was sitting on the floor, his eyes closed. He wasn't sleeping, but he seemed kind of out of it. If Kate hadn't known any better, she would have assumed he was high. But she didn't really care if he was. With what Kate had just seen, she was starting to understand why students at Blackwell drank and blazed so much. Kate wasn't sure how she'd coped without the obligatory chemical assistance.

The binder was full of photographs. Photographs of some girl Kate didn't know. But it wouldn't have mattered. Knowing her name wouldn't have made the sight any less horrific. In fact, it might have made it worse. If it had been someone Kate knew, she likely would have started screaming.

The girl in the photographs was clearly unconscious. Actually, no. Not unconscious. Kate could have handled that a lot easier.

The girl was clearly dead. Not high, not sleeping. _Dead._ Kate could tell by the girl's blank, lifeless stare. The photo was in black and white, which seemed to highlight all of the worst details. Kate noticed the slight awkwardness of the girl's position, like she'd been propped up and her limbs arranged to make it look like she was awake.

From what little Kate glimpsed of the other photographs, this was a trend. Each one was of this girl. This dead girl, her body posed in an array of unnatural positions. Some of them were just her lying on the floor, her hollow stare aimed at the camera.

But it wasn't just that. If only it had simply been the photographs. If only it had just been the dead girl's lifeless stare. But Kate had seen something else before she stumbled away from the desk. Something that caused her eyes to fill with tears.

Her name. _Kate Marsh._ Written across the second binder. The second _empty_ binder.

 

**Chloe**

Chloe had her gun aimed at the hatch.

He wasn't getting away this time. No more running. No more second-guessing. If Chloe wasn't going to take Nathan out now, what was even the point?

Then again, what was even the point of Nathan running around his own estate in a mask? Did he think it was funny? Did he think this whole thing was a fucking _joke?_

But Chloe wasn't laughing. She hadn't laughed in a very long time. Seeing Max again helped, but Chloe was failing to see much humor in her life. If this was Nathan's idea of a joke, Chloe was more than ready to deliver her idea of a hilarious punchline.

Chloe had basically given up on life after Rachel disappeared. She didn't even want to leave Arcadia Bay. Chloe wanted to wait, just in case Rachel came back. There was no way Rachel just left her, right? No way Rachel had found someone else or hopped a train. No matter how many people Rachel messed around with, Chloe knew Rachel would always come back to her.

Then Rachel's body was found and suddenly Chloe actually had a mission. A _purpose._ Because there was one thing she knew for a fact, even though the cops wouldn't dare explore the possibility. Had to keep those Prescotts happy, even to the detriment of their own investigation.

A part of her had doubted. Because there was no way she would have given that Prescott weasel the time of day. _Unless_ he wanted to photograph her. Rachel was a badass in so many ways, but she was weak to that kind of attention. Once Nathan said those magic words, Rachel would have gone anywhere with him. Chloe hoped that sick fuck hadn't gotten his photo session.

Chloe's hand shook. Just a few years ago, she wouldn't have considered herself capable of this. Standing there for almost ten minutes, gun aimed at the hatch. Ready to blow the head off the first person to show their face. Maybe Max was right. Maybe this _wasn't_ Chloe Price. But if this wasn't Chloe, who the hell was she?

The hatch shook a little, like someone was messing with it from below. Someone was coming up. Someone who had no idea what was waiting for them. Nathan? Or maybe Sean Prescott was down there? Whoever was coming up, Chloe was ready.

Her hand was shaking even worse. Chloe had seen gun fights on TV. She'd seen blood. For that matter, Chloe had envisioned Rachel's body a dozen times. Never went to Rachel's funeral because she knew the Ambers didn't want her there.

The hatch continued shaking. Was Nathan so hopped up on whatever that he couldn't even open it?

Then the hatch flew open, light pouring from down below. Chloe hadn't bothered to turn on any lights in the shed. Cover of darkness. But it was hella bright down in that secret room. Had to press her arm against her eyes for a second. Only a second. Then Chloe remembered what she was doing and aimed again.

She waited until the figure—Chloe could barely see them in the dark—reached the top of the ladder and scrambled out. She backed up, trying to become one with the darkness. The blue hair wasn't very good for stealth.

“Stop right there, asshole,” she said.

The figure turned towards her. Chloe flinched. _Jesus fuck._ What the hell was with that mask? It looked like something a serial killer would wear in a cheesy eighties horror movie, but somehow legitimately scary in the semi-darkness. Two dark eye holes and a stitched up mouth.

Chloe couldn't see the person's expression and they seemed to be wearing some kind of stringy wig over their real hair. But Chloe knew it was Nathan. Who else could it be, skulking around the Prescott mountain estate in that creepy mask?

The masked person stared at Chloe. Didn't raise their arms or anything like that. Just stared, those two eye holes boring right into Chloe's soul. She felt uncomfortable, but she knew she was safe. After all, Chloe was the one with the gun.

Chloe moved a little closer.

“Why?” she said. “Why did you kill Rachel?”

Chloe didn't actually care what Nathan had to say. Because no matter what he said, Chloe was still going to pop a cap in his ass. The Prescotts had had this coming for a hundred years, maybe longer. Hopefully Chloe's overall luck would improve after she put one of them in the ground. And even if it didn't, at least Chloe finally got what she wanted: vengeance.

The masked person didn't answer. Chloe got the sense they were smiling, but she wasn't sure why.

“Was it because you loved her?” said Chloe. “Is that why you fucking killed her, you sick freak? Is that why you killed all those other people?”

Her voice broke.

“This ends here, Nathan,” she said. “This is for Rachel. And Hayden. And all the other people you've killed. You're dead, motherfucker.”

The command went off in Chloe's head like an alarm bell: _Pull the trigger. Do it. Pull the trigger. Do it. Do it. Pull the trigger. For Rachel._

But her hands were shaking too hard and her vision was starting to blur. Chloe could feel the tears running down her cheeks. _Shit. Shit. SHIT. Why?!_ Why couldn't she just _do it?_ This sick piece of shit had murdered the love of her life. Had killed probably at least ten people and tossed them into some mine like discarded napkins. Yet Chloe was just standing there, finger on the trigger.

Was it Max? Was she hesitating because of Max? Well, Max could go straight to hell. Chloe couldn't believe she was letting those words get into her head. _“You're better than this, Chloe”? Pfft._ Like Max knew anything about her. Like Max actually gave a shit after so many years away.

The masked person took a step towards Chloe.

“Stay back!” said Chloe.

Reflexively, she pulled the trigger, letting loose a single shot. She jumped as the noise went off. It sounded like an explosion.

Chloe shut her eyes when the gun went off. She wasn't sure what exactly she didn't want to see. The blood? The splattered brains? All the images Chloe had relished in up until this point? Chloe had fantasized about this. Intricate fantasies about taking Nathan down, seeing the fear on his dumb face—the fear Rachel must have felt—as Chloe finally got her revenge.

Chloe opened her eyes. She had to see this. Had to be sure Nathan was really dead. Had to burn the image of his dead body into her brain.

But the masked person was still standing there. They'd backed off a little, but they looked perfectly fine. They seemingly hadn't so much as been grazed by the bullet. With her shaking hands, Chloe must have missed entirely.

“Stay back,” she said again.

The masked person started towards her. Their steps weren't slow and deliberate, like they were testing the waters. They walked with determination, as if they knew Chloe wouldn't shoot them. As if they knew that closing the gap wasn't going to do anything, despite Chloe's panicked reaction.

Chloe just stood there, hands shaking and knees weak. She couldn't believe she'd almost shot someone. Had almost _killed_ someone. And if she had...then what? Just walk out of there, blood on her hands, blood on the walls? But _Rachel._ This was for Rachel. Chloe had to do this. _For Rachel._

She raised the gun again. _For Rachel._

Chloe's head snapped back, her vision exploding into sparks. Her first reflex was to pull the trigger, yet somehow she felt her grip loosening. Chloe felt the gun fall from her hand and hit the ground. Maybe it went off. Maybe it didn't. Chloe didn't hear anything.

She hit the ground in what seemed like slow motion, blood erupting from her nose. She couldn't tell if it was a lot of blood or not, but that was the least of Chloe's worries. That shithead had punched her. Fucking _punched_ her. Hard enough to knock her down. And now Chloe was seeing stars, her head swimming. A string of swear words was pouring from Chloe's mouth, but she couldn't tell if they made sense or not.

She started to raise her head, feeling around for the dropped gun. Chloe's senses were coming back. Never mind just shooting the fucker. She was going to beat their ass into the ground and then _maybe_ put a bullet right through their head.

Then the masked person's foot slammed into her face, knocking her out cold. Chloe's grasping hand went still as the world faded to black.


	11. Together

**Max**

Max tightened the scarf around her neck.

Why did she feel like she was going on some kind of harrowing mission? She was just popping out to the shed to find those snowmobiles. No big deal, right?

The _problem_ was that Nathan Prescott was still unaccounted for. And Max was about to go out there alone, the image of Warren's dead body burned into her head. That sounded like a recipe for a swift death. The same swift end Warren Graham had met in that monitoring room.

Max shuddered. _Dammit, Chloe._ They didn't see each other in years and Chloe thought it was okay to just ditch her? Max knew she'd been a shit friend, but this was a life or death situation. Where could Chloe have gone? Back down to the abandoned mine?

She wrapped her arms around herself. Max was still wearing Chloe's jacket. She'd nearly forgotten about their earlier trade. But now Max was thinking about how Chloe had just given it to her without a second thought. Maybe their friendship was strong enough to get through this.

Warren's face flashed through Max's head. Max didn't want to lose two best friends that night. But if Nathan Prescott really was after everyone he thought was connected to Rachel, Chloe was definitely on the list.

_She has a gun, genius,_ Max told herself. _She'll be fine._

But for some reason she didn't fully believe that. Maybe it was this crazy night. Maybe it was the fact that Max knew Nathan had a massive advantage over them. He knew the house and the surrounding area. He knew all the secret passages and hidden rooms.

Victoria was sitting on the couch, arms folded. When she saw Max heading for the door, she immediately stood up.

“You're not seriously going out there to find your little girlfriend, are you?” she said.

Max sighed.

“No, Victoria,” said Max. “I'm going out there to find us a way out of here. Don't you want to leave?”

Victoria rolled her eyes.

“Of course I want to leave, smartass,” said Victoria. “But it's not going to happen. Not until this storm clears up. You want to freeze your lady balls off? Go right ahead. But you better not haunt my ass.”

Max let out another sigh. Why did Victoria have to be like this? She understood that it was partially a defense mechanism, but it was so fucking tedious.

“Deal,” said Max. “And you're welcome.”

She started towards the door again, but Victoria suddenly spoke up for the second time. The tone of her voice forced Max to turn around.

Victoria was wringing her hands and refusing to make eye contact.

“I'm sorry about Warren,” said Victoria. “If I'd known, I would have never...”

She bit her lip. Victoria sounded genuinely sorry, even though she'd hardly known Warren. She'd mocked him to his face at least once. And of course she'd made fun of Max for hanging out with him.

“I helped Nathan set this up,” said Victoria. “I gave him the idea for the camera room. I thought we could tape the whole thing and have a good laugh later. I...I didn't know... Shit. I'm so sorry, Max.”

Victoria reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She offered the paper to Max.

“Here's a map of the grounds,” she said. “ _All_ of the grounds. All the secret passages, the hidden rooms. All the buildings.”

Max walked over and reluctantly took the paper from Victoria's hand. She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do with it, but she appreciated the gesture. Back at Blackwell, Max had never tried to be friends with Victoria. There might have been something there, but there was no way Max was going out of her way to find it. Now she was actually regretting not buddying up with Victoria sooner. Maybe they could have avoided some of this.

“Thanks,” said Max.

She tucked the map into the pocket of her—Chloe's—jacket.

“If it means anything, I really love your photographs,” said Max. “Mr. Jefferson is right. You could be a pro if you wanted to. You just need a little more vision.”

_And an attitude readjustment,_ Max added to herself.

Victoria blushed.

“Thanks,” she said. “But we all know _you're_ the golden child, Max. Mr. Jefferson barely acknowledges my existence. But you? He sees something in you, Maxine.”

Max tried not to be too happy about that. None of it was going to matter if they never made it back to Arcadia Bay. But still, Max always got flustered when Mark Jefferson complimented her. Even hearing that he was impressed by her work from a secondhand source made Max's heart swell.

Victoria headed for the closet. The _actual_ closet, not the weird study room.

“I'm coming with you,” said Victoria.

Max was secretly relieved. Two against one gave them some kind of advantage against Nathan. Although with so many people still missing, she was wondering if advantages were even relevant anymore.

Of course actually seeing Mr. Jefferson's face again required them escaping the Prescott mountain estate. And Max was hoping Warren's was the last dead body she was going to see that night.

Max opened her mouth to tell Victoria how grateful she was. But she was interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.

Dana came running into the room. She had her arms wrapped around herself and her eyes were filled with tears.

 

**Kate**

Kate was surprised when she was able to get the door open. Didn't even have to force it. It was unlocked. No crowbar required.

She suddenly needed to get out of that house. She'd needed to for a while, but this was a whole new level of urgency. Kate thought nothing could get to her anymore. After being in that creepy photo room and being attacked by that masked person, Kate was ready for just about anything. But not this.

Frank was sitting on the floor, staring at the empty binder in his lap. He'd asked Kate what was wrong and she'd responded by dumping everything she'd found into his lap. She couldn't say it out loud.

“Geez,” said Frank.

He didn't sound scared, but he did sound disgusted. Frank had probably seen some serious crap in his day. Being a drug dealer—especially in Arcadia Bay—had to be nightmarish. But Kate was willing to bet this was a new one for Frank Bowers.

“I knew he was a sick fuck, but _god,”_ said Frank.

Everyone knew about Nathan's little meltdowns. Even his fellow Vortex Club members were wary of him. Nathan kept his little club afloat with the promise of drugs and underage drinking, two things Kate wasn't even slightly into. Now Kate was especially happy she'd never been invited to a Vortex Club party.

Except she _had_ been invited. About a month ago. Nathan had called Kate and asked if she wanted to “hang out with the Vortex Club”. And Kate—polite but baffled—had declined, making up some flimsy excuse about an upcoming project. At the time, Kate thought it was weird. Since when did Nathan Prescott give a crap about Kate Marsh? What could have possibly compelled him to actually invite her to a Vortex Club party? He'd even promised her V.I.P access—whatever that meant—if she showed up.

Kate felt like the room was spinning. She imagined going to that party. She imagined Nathan drugging her. She imagined him doing whatever it was he did to people in that weird basement photo studio in his secluded mountain estate. And now—against all odds—she was exactly where Nathan had wanted her. Kate felt like she was going to pass out.

If Frank had been able to, he probably would have put his hands on Kate's shoulders and guided her out of the room. Kate really needed someone to do that. She didn't feel like she could move anymore, like her body was about to sprout roots and just keep her in that room.

The picture was coming together in Kate's head. So Nathan drugged and kidnapped women, likely using the Prescott fortune and the Vortex Club to his advantage. Of course he did. Why would any woman touch Nathan Prescott with a ten foot pole, unless he was flashing bills? Maybe he invited them up to his mountain estate, promised them money and vintage wine for their trouble. Kate wondered how exactly he killed those girls. Did he just give them an overdose? Was it blunt force trauma?

Kate was retreating further into the morbid side of her mind, but she couldn't help it. This house was stained with years of bloodshed. If she listened closely, Kate swore she could hear the screaming of those souls trapped in the walls. She didn't exactly believe in ghosts, but she did believe in life after death. And Kate didn't want to imagine the kind of life Nathan Prescott's victims—or what was left of their spirits—might be living inside those cursed walls.

“I need to confess something,” said Kate.

She swallowed hard. This wasn't the time or the place for a confession. She needed to get out of there. The door was open. But somehow Kate didn't think she was going to get out alive. Nathan Prescott had gone to the trouble of getting her there. There was no way he was just letting Kate walk out. So this might be Kate's last chance to unload her sins. Obviously Frank wasn't a preacher, but he _did_ go to church and he was still practically a stranger.

“I...I did something I'm not proud of,” said Kate. “It was dumb, but I was drunk and... _yeah._ I was drunk. But God will forgive me, right? _Right?”_

Her eyes filled with tears.

“I had...I did...,” she said. “I had... _relations..._ with a man. An older man.”

Kate let out a long, shaky breath. There it was. She'd finally said it out loud. It was all out there. And even if confessing to Frank wasn't going to save her, at least Kate finally got it off her chest. Because Kate knew she couldn't tell her friends or family about this. Her mother would probably shame her forever and her friends wouldn't know what to say.

“I mistook him for a godly man of virtue,” said Kate. “He certainly talked like one. I guess. I don't know. The things he said made me feel so... _special.”_

Even now, Kate's heart swelled. No one had ever spoken to her like that before. It had been like something out of a fairy tale. Or at least that's what it felt like at the time. Now that Kate was looking back on it, she realized those words had been laced with something strange. Something just a little off. But of course Kate had been too wrapped up in the flattery.

“Hey, it's gonna be fine,” said Frank.

The reply was generic and ultimately unhelpful, but Kate hadn't expected much more. She appreciated that Frank was doing his best. He also wasn't whining about the fact that they were still in that room, so Kate doubly appreciated his patience.

“We all have our shit to work through,” said Frank. “You know, I'm pretty sure Rachel didn't love me. I think she was just using me to get out of Arcadia Bay. But I....I can deal with that. I loved her.”

He didn't _sound_ like he'd dealt with it. To Kate, he sounded like the very idea was causing him more pain than his leg. But Kate understood what it was like to be enamored, to fall under someone's spell and forget about common sense. And if she was being honest, Kate truly believed what Frank said. Rachel Amber was a wild card.

“But we have to get out of here,” said Frank. “Above all else, we have to get out of here.”

Those were the words Kate needed to hear. They'd been circling her brain for a while and now they were finally coming down for a landing.

She went over to Frank and helped him up. It was even more difficult the third or fifth time around, but Kate didn't hesitate. She was back in that heroine head space.

Above all else, Kate had to get out of there. Had to get _everyone_ out of there. But that was easy enough. Once she told them about what Nathan had been up to, they could all walk out of there together.

 

**Max**

The doors to the shed were wide open. Not a good sign.

She'd left Victoria with Dana. She trusted that Victoria wasn't going to be too big of an asshole. After all, Dana looked like she'd seen a ghost. The poor girl could barely talk. The combination of the cold and whatever she'd experienced had rendered Dana semi-mute.

Against all odds, Max actually trusted that Victoria could be a decent friend if she wanted to. And it didn't have anything to do with the Vortex Club. Victoria was—and Max felt weird even thinking it—a _somewhat decent human being._

Max wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered. Why was she all alone out there? How was that in any way a good idea? But it wasn't like Max had a lot of options. Dana didn't look up to going anywhere and Max needed to find Chloe.

Nathan with power tools. Nathan with whatever broken down machinery the shed had to offer. Nathan waiting to ambush them classic horror movie style, hatchet in hand. And of course Max was walking straight into his trap like good little sheep.

But Max wasn't an idiot. She'd grabbed a poker from beside the fireplace before she left. She would have preferred something heavier, but at least Max wasn't jumping into the unknown without a weapon. That was how people died. That was how _Max Caulfield_ died.

As she neared the shed, Max slowed down a little. She didn't want to get near the place. She wanted to go back inside and forget any of this messed up shit was happening. But then Max thought about Chloe and her resolve strengthened.

Max squinted into the shed's interior. It was really dark in there. Mostly the outlines of machinery and some lumps that Max hoped weren't corpses. If this shed turned out to be filled with even more dead bodies, that was pretty much the end of the road for Max.

“Nathan?” she said.

She tried to hold the poker like she actually knew what she was doing. Max wished she had something more intimidating, like maybe a knife from the kitchen or a chainsaw. Something that would have legitimately scared Nathan Prescott.

“Max?”

Max almost screamed. She spun around, flailing the poker like it was a sword.

But then she realized it was Chloe. She sounded faint and defeated, but it was definitely Chloe. Max would have recognized that voice anywhere. And when Max peered into the semi-darkness again, she instantly saw that striking blue hair.

Max came running over, her eyes filling with grateful tears. Without even thinking, Max tossed the poker to the side. She didn't care if being unarmed was a dumbass move at this point. She didn't care if this was somehow a trap. All Max cared about was Chloe.

Chloe was sitting on the floor. She was rubbing the side of her head, looking dazed.

Max threw herself at Chloe, wrapping her up in a bear hug. It felt like ages since they'd actually hugged. There was always a big gap between these blissful moments of physical contact. Max was tired of them. She wanted to attach herself to Chloe, to just wrap her up in a little ball and protect her from everything. Max didn't care if Chloe was the badass with a salty attitude. All Max saw was Chloe Price, a beautiful dumbass and now the only real friend Max had. _Alive._ Mercifully _alive._

“Holy shit, you're okay,” Max said. “You're okay, you're okay, you're okay...”

She buried her face in Chloe's chest, losing herself in Chloe's heartbeat. She was sobbing like a baby, her words barely comprehensible as she soaked Chloe's shirt with tears.

“Whoa, Max,” said Chloe.

She was speaking a little slower than usual, but otherwise she sounded alright.

“At least take me out to dinner first,” said Chloe.

Max let go, withdrawing and wiping tears from her eyes. She was grinning.

“You dork,” she said. “You massive fucking dork.”

Her grin faded when she noticed Chloe's face. Max saw the black eye first. It took her a little while longer to notice that Chloe's nose was bleeding. And to top it all off, Chloe was pretty much covered with dirt. She looked like she'd been through hell.

Max clutched Chloe's shoulders, her voice shaking with concern.

“What the hell happened to you?” she said. “Did Nathan do this?”

She reached to touch the black eye, but Chloe leaned away. Chloe wrapped an arm around her shoulders and looked away, refusing to meet Max's gaze. She had a sad smile on her face. This probably wasn't Chloe's first black eye, but it was a huge first from Max's perspective. The old Chloe wasn't really into starting fights.

“Chill out, Mad Max,” said Chloe. “Yeah, it was Nathan. The fucker was wearing a mask. I think he took my gun.”

Max could tell by Chloe's tone of voice that she didn't _think_ Nathan took her gun. She _knew_ he'd taken it. But Chloe was playing it off like there was only a fifty-fifty chance of Nathan walking arund armed.

“So now Nathan's wandering around with a gun?” said Max. “Great job, Chloe. Happy you decided to take your little “precautions”?”

She didn't mean to be so heartless, but Max couldn't help it. This really was Chloe's fault. So far, Chloe having a gun had saved precisely zero people. But now Nathan was roaming around his estate armed with more than a butcher knife.

Chloe smirked.

“Guess next time I should just trust my best friend to save me,” she said. “Its worked out well so far, right?”

Max stood up, pulling Chloe to her feet. Chloe was unsteady, almost falling into Max's arms as she tried to stand. But Max held her firmly in place.

“Chloe, can we just _get over it?”_ said Max. “Can we pretend it never happened? I'm sorry, okay?”

At least Chloe looked like she actually believed it this time. No rolling her eyes. Or maybe it was just the situation they'd found themselves in. Either way, Max was willing to accept a truce. At least until they got the hell out of there.

“Tell you what,” said Chloe. “If we get out of this shit pit alive, I'll buy you a coffee. You _and_ Warren. We can all hang out and be all lovey-dovey forever. Sound good?”

Max stared at Chloe for a full minute. She felt like someone had wrapped a fist around her heart. Of course Chloe didn't know. She hadn't seen the body. _Oh god. The fucking body._ Max's stomach churned at the image in her head. She wondered if Warren even felt it, if he suffered, if he knew seconds before it happened.

“Warren's dead,” Max said.

She nearly choked on the words. It didn't get any easier.

Chloe grabbed Max's shoulders, pulling her close. She didn't say a single word. No snarky comments, no incredulous looks. She just pulled Max closer and wrapped her up in a hug.

Max sobbed into Chloe's chest. She sobbed like she'd never cried before in her life.


	12. Frozen Solid

**Dana**

Dana wanted— _needed—_ to get out of there, but of course that wasn't happening any time soon. Everyone—except Victoria—seemed to be somewhere else, so Dana was struggling to figure out an exit strategy. She needed someone to bounce ideas off of.

“Why didn't he kill me?” said Dana.

She was sitting on the couch, arms wrapped around herself as she rocked back and forth. The question just slipped out of her, something that had been on her mind for a while. Pretty much ever since she woke up in that weird room.

Why didn't Nathan—or whoever was in that weird mask—just kill her? Why kill Hayden, but leave Dana alive? What was the point? What was the point of this whole thing?

Victoria rolled her eyes. She was leaning against the back of the couch, arms folded. She didn't look too happy about having to babysit Blackwell's most beautiful cheerleader. That was fine. The sentiment was mutual.

“Gee, I don't know,” she said. “I bet _Max_ has figured it all out by now. Better go ask her.”

Victoria's snarky tone almost sent Dana into rage mode. She'd been lulled into a false sense of security, what with Victoria showing a little bit of _civility_ for once. But now Dana was remembering all of Victoria's thinly-veiled dislike for her. Dana was a hundred percent sure it was Victoria who'd been spreading nasty rumors about her and the entire football team.

“I know you don't like me,” said Dana. “And maybe you're jealous or whatever. But we're both in the Vortex Club and we're both probably in danger. So can you please just fucking _stop,_ at least for tonight? Come _on,_ Victoria.”

Victoria laughed.

“What's wrong, slut?” she said. “Can't handle a little trash talk? I had no idea you were so sensitive. I mean, you can't really afford to be.”

Dana jumped off the couch. She was shaking, but not from the cold. After the absolute hell she'd been through that night, Dana was officially done. Done with Victoria, done with this entire fucking house, done with _life._ And she definitely wasn't taking any of this catty bullshit from Victoria.

“Yes, Victoria!” she said. “I gave Zack a blowjob _one time._ And I got pregnant because I'm a stupid teenager who makes stupid mistakes. And I made out with a bunch of people once at a Vortex Club party. But you know what, Victoria? _Who the fuck cares about any of that?”_

Victoria opened her mouth, shocked but clearly speechless. This was maybe the first time Dana had actually called her out. Dana knew Victoria didn't exactly have a good life. Tons of family issues. Not as bad as Nathan's, but Victoria was under a ton of pressure from her parents and it definitely showed. So Dana was usually willing to give Victoria some slack. But not tonight.

“Give it a fucking rest,” said Dana.

She felt like flipping Victoria off, but she decided that verbal beat-down was more than enough. Dana was tired, hungry, and not at all in the mood for a debate. But at least she got to blow off some steam, even if her words probably wouldn't get through Victoria's thick skull.

To her surprise, Victoria's face filled with guilt.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I totally forgot about what you went through. I...I suck. I'm the worst. I'll admit that. But how am I supposed to cope with this?”

She wrapped her arms around herself, staring intently at the floor.

Dana completely understood _why_ Victoria was losing it. And honestly, Dana felt kind of like an asshole for blowing up at Victoria. Justified or not, that wasn't normally how Dana made friends or gained allies. And Dana needed as many allies and friends as she could get.

“My best friend is a fucking murderer,” said Victoria. “I should have known. Nathan's been so weird lately. And his dad...his dad is just...”

Dana flinched at the mention of Nathan's dad. She'd never spoken to the infamous Sean Prescott, but everyone knew the stories. To Dana and most of the other students at Blackwell, the guy was Nathan's rich dad who paid for his son's extravagant lifestyle. The idea that Victoria had any personal experience with that creep—Dana believed one hundred percent of the gross rumors she heard—made Dana feel extra sorry for her.

“His dad's a total fucking psycho,” said Victoria. “Do you know why he built this house? Why he paid so much money for this cozy little estate? Because he's obsessed with doomsday prophecies and ghosts and shit.”

She shuddered.

“He wanted to build this estate on sacred Native American ground because he thought it would protect him,” said Victoria.

Dana looked around, taking in the immensity of the living room. She thought the Prescotts built big because they could afford it, but suddenly she was wondering if there was some ulterior motive for all that extra space. More extra space meant more room for secret rooms and passages.

“Protect him from what?” said Dana.

Victoria let out a frustrated sigh. She gave her next statement the precise amount of disdain she probably thought it deserved.

“From ghosts,” she said.

Dana shuddered. No wonder Nathan was so messed up.

 

**Max**

It took about twenty minutes for Max to run out of tears. Having pretty much soaked the front of Chloe's shirt, Max finally lifted her head.

She didn't feel much better, but that was pretty understandable. Max doubted she was ever going to “feel better” about any of this. And that was fine with her. She didn't want to feel better. Max didn't suddenly want to be okay with the fact that one of her best friends was dead.

Chloe ran a hand through Max's hair, a surprisingly tender gesture coming from this new Chloe Price. It reminded Max of back when they were kids. Back when Max used to burst into tears every time she scraped her knee because she was such a baby. Or maybe a part of her just wanted Chloe to comfort her, wanted Chloe to hold Max's head against her chest and run those fingers through her hair. Either way, Max scraped her knees _a lot._

“You good?” said Chloe.

Max touched Chloe's hand, the one running through her hair. Maybe this wasn't the best time to be thinking about something like that, but Max had really missed this. She'd missed feeling like Chloe always had her back, like she could do no wrong in Chloe's eyes. Max had missed being a hundred percent certain that Chloe loved her.

“No, I'm an asshole,” said Max.

Chloe wrapped an arm around Max's shoulders and pulled her close.

“Yeah, but you're cute as hell,” said Chloe. “I bet the dudebros at Blackwell can't keep their eyes off you.”

Having failed to make a splash in the local dating pool, Max laughed. If anything, Chloe was the cute one. Even with that blue hair and attitude, Chloe was just so damn adorable.

“Like I could compete with you,” said Max. “You're the one guy magnet.”

Chloe snorted, rolling her eyes.

“Oh sure,” said Chloe. “Like I'd date any of the hicks around here. Rachel was the only person in this shitty town actually worth being with.”

Max looked away. _Wow._ Rachel Amber must have really been something. Enough to thaw Chloe's frozen heart. How long had it taken Chloe to actually warm up to Rachel? A few days? Months? And what did Rachel really think of Chloe?

Chloe sighed.

“I loved her, Max,” she said. “Really really _really_ loved her. That dickhead Nathan is going to pay.”

Involuntarily, Max's thoughts settled on Warren again. She thought about all the fun stuff they were going to do together, all the plans they made before all this shit happened. Warren was such a free spirit, even though everyone thought he was a total geek.

Nathan was going to pay. For all the hurt he'd caused, for the lives he'd taken, for every fucked up thing his family had ever done. Max was going to make sure of it, even if she had to burn the Prescotts to the ground with her own two hands.

But first they had to get those snowmobiles. If they were going to take down Nathan, they needed to escape his playing field.

Max took the left side of the shed, while Chloe searched the right side. It was a slow process, but pausing meant talking. And talking meant bringing up Nathan or Warren again, two topics Max was trying her hardest to avoid.

How was she supposed to break this to Warren's mom? For that matter, how were Max's parents going to react? They'd probably insist she come home, maybe even arrange for her to attend some other school. And Max definitely didn't want that.

“So why did you come back?” said Chloe. “Did Seattle suck that much?”

Max blushed. Of course Chloe had a knack for asking Max's least favorite questions. It felt kind of silly to be embarrassed at a time like this, but Max couldn't really help it. She always got so fucking shy when she talked about stuff like this.

“Oh, you know,” she said. “They have one of the best photography programs ever. And Mark Jefferson. How could I not?”

Chloe snorted, kicking at a pile of miscellaneous parts. The tip of her foot hit a tiny gear-like object, sending it clattering across the floor. The sound was almost deafening in the otherwise silent shed.

“Say no more, Mad Max,” said Chloe. “I get it. I really do. Never took you for _that_ kind of girl.”

Max rolled her eyes.

“Geez, Chloe,” she said. “Are you going to get jealous of _every_ guy I mention?”

Chloe laughed. Just like that, they'd lapsed into another one of their casual conversations. It felt good, especially after Max's recent sobbing session. It was kind of weird, how they could just talk like everything was fine. Max found so much comfort in Chloe's stability, even if a lot of it wasn't genuine.

“Oh please,” said Chloe. “You practically creamed your pants. _“Mark Jefferson”._ Give me a break. Are you seriously popping a lady boner over some douchebag who takes pictures?”

Max didn't understand why Chloe was being so, well, _Chloe_ about Mark Jefferson. And honestly, it pissed her off. Maybe it was partially because no one ever talked shit about Mr. Jefferson. The guy was practically worshiped at Blackwell. Even the guys—jocks and geeks alike—were in awe of him. And Max hated to admit it, but she _did_ sometimes have some pretty lewd fantasies. She couldn't help it. The guy was a sexy bastard with charm to spare.

“He's not a douchebag,” said Max. “He's really nice. He actually gives a shit about my dumb selfies.”

For some reason, Chloe sounded offended.

“Hey, _I_ like your selfies,” she said. “Your selfies are the best. You don't need some teacher to tell you that. You've got talent, Max.”

Max was a little surprised. Chloe never seemed too into photography. Every time Max was messing around with her camera, Chloe would roll her eyes and suggest they play pirates for the millionth time. A legitimate compliment like that seemed slightly out of character. But then again, Chloe had always been massively supportive of anything Max wanted to do. Chloe always backed her best friend.

She was about to thank Chloe for the compliment, but the words never left her mouth. Max's foot nudged something, something solid. She frowned, realizing she'd found something. An object stuffed under a tarp.

“Hey Chloe,” she said.

Max squatted down to get a closer look. She wrinkled her nose as a gross smell rose from whatever was under the tarp. It reminded Max of something, but she wasn't sure what. Maybe Nathan's secret Rachel shrine? No, this was way more rancid.

Without thinking, Max grabbed the tarp and gave it a yank. A split second before it crumpled to the floor, Max realized what was under it. She saw it in her mind's eye before it appeared right in front of her. A memory, half-buried by her desperate attempts to keep herself sane. Max knew that smell.

She pressed a hand over her nose, but it was too late. Max was already dry-heaving, her head bowed as the scent intensified. Her eyes filled with tears and her stomach churned. Max was pretty sure her lunch was coming back up.

Panicked, Chloe came running over. She grabbed Max by the shoulders and yanked her to her feet.

“Hey, you're okay,” said Chloe. “Look at me. You're okay. You're fine. We're fine. It's all okay.”

She glanced at what Max had uncovered. Only a glance, but it was enough. Chloe saw matted fur, streaks of blood, a pair of dead eyes. The flies were already swarming.

A deer. A dead, eviscerated deer. Max couldn't tell what had killed the poor thing. She was betting it was another animal, but she couldn't help thinking about Nathan. Nathan running around like the gross weasel he was. Running through the woods with a knife and attacking defenseless animals. Tearing them apart and storing them in the shed. That sounded like a Prescott hobby.

“You're okay,” said Chloe.

Max pressed her head into the front of Chloe's shirt again. She was so fucking sick of death. First Hayden, then Warren, then probably Stella and Daniel. And given that they hadn't heard anything from Eliot for a long time, he was probably dead. And now this poor deer that had literally nothing to do with any of this. This was one hundred percent the exact opposite of the fun weekend Max had imagined.

“You're okay,” Chloe repeated.

Unfortunately, Max didn't think she was. She was miles away from being even a little okay.

 

**Kate**

The house was a maze. That was what Kate was slowly learning.

Maybe it was built like that on purpose. Those long hallways that seemed to go both everywhere and nowhere, those massive rooms, those countless locked doors. It all felt way too designed for Kate's taste. If Sean Prescott intended this to be a labyrinth, he'd done an excellent job.

“Hey, we can stop,” Frank kept saying.

But Kate kept shaking her head. She felt like Nathan was right behind them, waiting to drag them both back to that weird basement photo room.

She shuddered, remembering the photos. Kate used to believe there was good in everyone, that everyone deserved a chance to be saved. But Nathan Prescott—and Kate didn't use this word lightly—was a sick bastard.

When Kate finally saw something she recognized—a hallway lined with creepy old paintings—she sighed in relief. This looked like something she'd seen before. Or maybe Kate was misremembering? Then again, Kate had zero idea where the bathroom was.

_Holy crap._ That felt like a lifetime ago. How was the sun not up yet?

“We're almost there,” said Kate.

She started to smile. Finally. _Finally._ She could see her friends again. Tell them about everything that was going on. They could escape _together._ She had no idea what any of them would say about Frank, but Kate didn't care. She just hoped they were having a better time than she was.

“What the fuck?” said Frank.

Kate almost swung around, convinced Nathan Prescott was standing right there. But of course that little weasel was nowhere to be seen. Probably hiding out in some hidden room, organizing his sick photo collection and waiting for one of his guests to get curious.

A little color had returned to Frank's face. He was staring intently at one of the paintings.

Kate turned to see what he was freaking out about. At the sight of the painting, she let out a little noise of disgust. Kate wasn't the judgy type—and she definitely wasn't an art critic—but the Prescotts had such a weird taste in art. If it wasn't creepy, it was downright disturbing and strangely erotic. Case in point, this lovely masterpiece that seemed to have caught Frank's attention. Huge portrait of a naked woman sitting in a bath tub filled with blood. Her entire bottom half was submerged, but her breasts were on full display. With nothing else to go on, Kate assumed Frank was ogling the painted woman's boobs.

But then Kate saw it. At first she thought it was just the mirror in the painting's foreground. But when she gave it a second look, she noticed that someone—likely Nathan—had cut a hole in the painting. A very precise hole, almost unnoticeable to the naked eye. And when Kate looked closer, she saw what looked like a camera lens resting inside that tiny opening.

Kate turned pale. _Darn it._ She thought she was done being scared, that Nathan couldn't possibly send her into panic mode again. But of course Kate was being naive. Nathan Prescott had a thousand ways to get her blood pumping. And that sick bastard was probably enjoying every second of it.

Was this all a game? An elaborate practical joke? Yeah, it had to be. Maybe those pictures were all fake. Staged. Nathan Prescott could have easily hired a bunch of models to pose for him. All it would take was some make-up and contact lenses. That guy who attacked Kate in that photo area was probably a part of it. Some guy taking his role too seriously.

But what about Frank's leg? There was no way that was part of the prank, right? Unless Frank was somehow in on it, and Kate doubted it. But maybe all of this—including messing up Frank's leg—was Nathan Prescott's idea of a prank. Maybe he wanted everyone scared because he thought it was funny. That would explain why he was recording them. Kate had no doubt there were other cameras hidden all over the house.

She shuddered, suddenly feeling violated. Had Nathan been watching Kate the whole time? _The whole time?_ While she was undressing and getting into the bathtub? He must have, otherwise he—or whoever—wouldn't have been able to sneak up on Kate. And she _had_ felt like she was being watched. _Crap._

“You okay?” said Frank.

Kate realized she'd been standing still for a few minutes, just staring at the painting and thinking about Nathan. Prank or not, this was some serious crap. Did Sean Prescott even know his son was doing all this? Now that she thought about it, hadn't Nathan's invitation mentioned something about his dad “being away on a business trip”, hence free use of the mountain estate? And if Sean Prescott had no idea what his son was up to, it was even less likely that someone was going to be coming for them anytime soon.

“No,” said Kate.

She gently eased Frank to the ground, sliding his arm off her shoulder.

Kate sank to the floor next to Frank. Without another word, Kate pressed both hands against her face and started to sob.

 

**Max**

There were no snowmobiles.

Maybe there never were to begin with. Maybe Nathan took them. Maybe they were somewhere else, somewhere Max and Chloe weren't willing to look.

It didn't matter. What mattered was that Max was officially out of ideas. She had nothing. Not a single alternative course of action that would magically fix everything. No easy way to get them out of this. The storm was getting worse, Stella and Daniel weren't back, and Max was totally lost.

To Max's surprise, Victoria didn't have anything shitty to say. When Max explained how she'd failed to find the snowmobiles, Victoria just shrugged. She didn't even roll her eyes or give Max one of her signature smirks. Something had changed in Victoria's demeanor since the last time her and Max spoke, but Max had no idea why.

“So that's it?” said Dana.

With Max out of commission, Chloe decided to take charge. Except this was _Chloe,_ so her method of taking charge wasn't exactly gentle.

“No shit,” said Chloe. “Unless you want to hike all the way back to the cable station. If so, good for you. Just try not to freeze to death, okay?”

Victoria was sitting next to Max on the couch, arms folded. At Chloe's words, she unfolded her arms and leaned forward a little.

“We could always just wait,” said Victoria. “Or one of us could hike out to the old fire tower and try the radio.”

Chloe rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, because obviously that probably worked _so_ well for Stella and Daniel,” said Chloe. “Look Victoria, we can't fucking _wait._ And if we go out there, we're dead.”

Victoria was clearly the most pissed off in the group. Well, maybe it was a tie between her and Chloe. They were both shifting dangerously close to Complete Shithead Mode. Max wasn't eager to see what happened when they went into maximum over-bitch.

Max recognized that nothing was going to get done if it was those two captaining the ship, but she was in no place to step in. What was she supposed to say? That they were both wrong? Because they were entirely right. There was nothing any of them could do, other than wait and hope for the best. The problem was that waiting didn't get Kate back, it didn't make Eliot reappear, and it didn't bring Hayden and Warren back to life.

“So what are we supposed to do?” said Victoria. “Come on, Price. I'm all ears. What the fuck are we supposed to do?”

She waved a hand, dismissing Chloe before she even opened her mouth.

“You know what?” said Victoria. “I don't give a shit. Do whatever the hell you want. I'm not helping you.”

Max finally said something, jumping in before Victoria and Chloe could get into a verbal slap fight. Normally she wouldn't have given two shits if those two didn't like each other. She definitely wouldn't have blamed Chloe for getting into a screaming match with Victoria.

But this wasn't some silly Blackwell drama that no one was going to remember in two weeks. This was serious shit and they needed to start being adults.

“Chill out, you two,” said Max. “We need to find Nathan.”

Max wasn't sure what they were supposed to do when—and if—they actually got their hands on Nathan. Beat the shit out of him? Tie him up? Somehow get the gun away from him? Exact a fitting revenge, lie to the cops when they showed up, and take the secret to their graves?

But Nathan wasn't an idiot. If he had been, this whole thing would have been so much easier. Unfortunately, Nathan was smart enough to stay out of sight. He knew when he was outnumbered _and_ there were cameras all over the house. Nathan had to have some basic idea of what was going on and where everyone was. Nathan was waiting until one of them was alone before he pounced.

“Fuck Nathan,” said Dana. “What about Kate? And that Eliot guy?”

Max noticed Dana didn't include Stella and Daniel. They'd all sort of decided that Stella and Daniel were dead. Probably killed by Nathan. Given he'd planned all of this, Nathan was definitely better equipped to deal with the cold weather.

Victoria stood up.

“Well, _I'm_ going to find Kate and Eliot,” said Victoria. “You losers can stay here and get killed.”

Max raised an eyebrow. Since when did Victoria Chase give a shit about Kate Marsh or Eliot? Was Victoria really that desperate to get the hell away from them? Or had someone or something cracked the ice around Victoria's cold heart?

Then it clicked in Max's head. Why Victoria's demeanor had changed, why Victoria was suddenly announcing that she was going to find Kate and Eliot.

“Victoria, this isn't your fault,” said Max.

Victoria pursed her lips. For a minute, Max thought Victoria was going to get pissed off. Honestly, Max didn't care if Victoria got mad at her. Anything was better than Victoria wandering off and getting killed by Nathan.

“Like you know anything about it,” said Victoria.

Victoria pressed a hand to her chest, her voice shaking slightly. She'd probably been holding this in for a while, unable to admit to herself—let alone everyone else—that she was so messed up about this.

“You don't get it, Max,” said Victoria. “But of course you don't. _You're_ not the one who helped set this up. _You're_ not the one who gave Nathan ideas. _You're_ not the one who fell for your best friend's bullshit.”

She glanced at Chloe.

“Or maybe you did,” said Victoria.

Chloe opened her mouth, but Max jumped in before the verbal beat-down could get started. How could everyone be such _assholes?_ How could anyone think that leaping down each others' throats was going to solve anything? Max didn't get it and it was beginning to really fuck with her head.

“You can't go by yourself,” said Max. “One of us needs to go with you. Just in case. Maybe you can talk some sense into Nathan.”

Max doubted it, but it was their best—and really their only—shot. If anyone was going to get through to Nathan Prescott, it had to be Victoria Chase. Best friends stick together. Best friends listen to one another. If Chloe could at least partially forgive Max, Nathan could listen to Victoria for five minutes.

Chloe raised a hand.

“I'll go with her,” she said.

Max turned to Chloe, a concerned look on her face. Okay, _that_ had come out of left field. And Max had never used that expression in her life. But somehow it fit perfectly. Mostly because Max felt like someone had clocked her in the back of the head with a baseball.

Victoria shrugged.

“Yeah, whatever,” she said. “We can find your boy toy Eliot. Sound fun?”

That sounded like the opposite of fun, but Chloe forced a smile on her face and nodded. Max had never seen Chloe so quiet and compliant. It was like Chloe's whole personality had shifted in the span of three minutes. But what the hell had caused it?

Dana stood up. She probably wasn't thrilled about running around that house, but she likely recognized it was for the greater good. None of them had a choice in the matter.

“Me and Max will find Kate,” she said.

Max looked at Chloe, trying to non-verbally communicate what she was thinking. But she had a feeling she didn't quite get her message across.

“Sure,” was all Max could say.

Chloe grabbed Max's shoulder, startling her. She was grinning, a legitimate grin that did very little to put Max at ease.

Why was the atmosphere so weird out of nowhere? Just when Max thought things were slowing down. And of course everyone was effected by the change in atmosphere. Even Dana was visibly uncomfortable.

“Chill out, Mad Max,” said Chloe. “I'm not going to kill her. Probably.”

Victoria snorted, but she didn't offer comment.

Max bit her lip. She didn't know what to say. There were a million things running through her mind. Mostly stuff about how grateful she was for their friendship, how growing up together had shaped Max's life, how happy she was to have Chloe back after their forced hiatus. And there was stuff Max wasn't sure she should say, stuff she couldn't really put into words.

“Be careful,” said Max.

Chloe pulled Max into a hug. It felt strange to just be hugging in front of Dana and Victoria, but Max didn't care.

“I always am,” said Chloe.

She tried to disengage, but Max wrapped her arms around Chloe's back and clung to her. Max didn't want to let go. She wanted to tell Chloe every single thought that was racing through her head. But she could tell Chloe didn't want to hear any of it. And Max wasn't sure it made any sense.

“I mean it,” said Max.

Chloe shut her eyes, running a hand through Max's hair.

“I know,” she said.

They stayed like that for what seemed like way too long, just hugging. Unwilling to let go.

 

**Kate**

Frank nudged Kate's shoulder.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “You, um, okay now?”

He sounded uncomfortable, but not annoyed. He probably recognized Kate's need to cry. If Frank had been in her position, he likely would have had been bawling his eyes out.

Kate lifted her head. She wasn't exactly “okay”. It was more like she was sinking deeper and deeper into a state of detachment. That was the only way Kate was going to keep going. If she could distance herself from all of this, Kate could move forward. Otherwise she was just going to keep running in place until Nathan caught her.

“I'll be fine,” said Kate.

It was the best she could offer without downright lying. Despite all the crap they'd been through that night, Kate didn't really know Frank and Frank didn't know her. They'd likely never see each other again after this was all over. And Kate wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Frank rested a hand on his good leg. Kate couldn't tell if he was in pain anymore. He probably was, but he was putting on a brave face for her sake. In the weirdest way, Frank reminded Kate of her dad. Always trying to act like he wasn't in pain, all for Kate's sake.

How did people end up like Frank? Was it just something they fell into, like how Kate fell into art? Or was it an inevitable consequence of, well, living in a craphole like Arcadia Bay? Maybe Frank was—in his own way—justified in choosing this sketchy line of work. In a place like Arcadia Bay, it definitely paid.

“You know what?” said Frank. “I think this is it for me.”

Kate was about to tell him that he would be fine, that he shouldn't give up when they were so close. But Frank barely glanced at her before continuing.

“If I get out of this, I'm gonna make amends,” said Frank. “Fuck the drugs. No more high school girls. Fuck all of that.”

He shook his head. Frank actually sounded regretful, like he was legitimately guilty about all that stuff. Kate wanted to believe he was telling the truth, but she was a little skeptical. Sure, people changed all the time. They saw the light and just gave themselves to it. But people like Frank? Kate didn't entirely buy it. Maybe it was unfair of her, but she doubted Frank was going to give up his lucrative drug business and “go straight”.

“Rachel Amber was a mistake in seven different ways,” said Frank. “What the fuck was I even thinking? Jesus Christ.”

He spread his arms and spoke passionately, like he was arguing a point no one had made.

“I know it was me,” said Frank. “All me. But she had this _pull,_ you know? She was like a dragon. Beautiful and dangerous and full of mystery. How could I resist? But _fuck._ She didn't give a shit about me. Just wanted to leave.”

Kate could tell Frank was having a genuine moment of clarity, like a fog was lifting. And even though this was a perfect moment to be judgy, she decided not to be. If Frank meant everything he said, Kate was happy for him.

“First off, I'm getting the fuck out of Arcadia Bay,” said Frank. “Not messing with the damn Prescotts or their freaky son anymore. Screw them. Gonna take my dog and my beans and just get the hell out of town.”

Finally Frank said something Kate one hundred percent believed. Of course Frank was going to bail after all this was over. Kate was seriously considering never returning to Blackwell. She knew her parents would be mad, although her mom would be at least partially relieved. But Kate didn't give a crap if her parents were ticked off. She was an adult. She could make that decision.

Kate got to her feet. If Frank was serious, the first step towards his recovery was them getting the heck out of there. Even if he wasn't going to follow through, Kate wanted to at least give him the chance.

She helped Frank up, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. He seemed lighter now, but maybe it was Kate's mindset. She was no longer seeing him as a burden. Kate was looking at him through a lenses of hope, as a promise of rebirth.

If they could all make it out of there, things were going to change. _They_ were going to change.


	13. Ice and Fire

**Chloe**

Chloe couldn't believe she'd actually done it. She couldn't believe that she'd fucking _volunteered_ to follow Victoria around. And for what? Just because she needed a timeout from Max? Instant regret. But it was too late. No take-backs.

She stared at Victoria's back, rolling her eyes at Victoria's expensive wardrobe. Chloe had never really been a fashion queen herself—she was all sweatshirts and old school punk clothes—but she could tell Victoria dropped major bank on her outfits.

Chloe didn't get why Victoria cared so much about being in Blackwell's upper class. Chloe had gotten a peek into Blackwell's high society and that was more than enough for her.

“Hey, look but don't touch,” said Victoria.

Chloe pretended to bow, even though Victoria's back was to her.

“As you command, Your Majesty,” said Chloe. “Should I start the ass-kissing now or draw you a bath, my lady?”

Predictably, Victoria groaned in frustration. The two of them hadn't been pals back when Chloe went to Blackwell, despite Rachel Amber bridging the gap. And Chloe definitely didn't want to be all buddy-buddy with Victoria fucking Chase of all people. Maybe Victoria wasn't a murderous creep, but she was only a step down from Nathan. Another Vortex Club snob swinging her money around like she was some kind of fucking princess.

“Just so you know, I'm leaving you behind if anything happens,” said Victoria. “Got it?”

Chloe stepped in front of Victoria, intentionally ramming Victoria aside with her shoulder. Screw Max's sunshine-and-rainbows approach. Max wanted everyone to work together and get along? Good for her. Max wasn't Chloe's lord and master.

“Loud and clear,” said Chloe.

She was pretty much pushing Victoria's buttons for no good reason, but she didn't give a shit. Chloe needed to blow off some steam and Victoria happened to be the perfect target. Chloe honestly didn't feel too bad about being an asshole to Victoria Chase.

“Ugh,” said Victoria.

She brushed a hand across her shoulder, like she thought Chloe had gotten some failure on her. Chloe would have entirely ditched Victoria and taken her chances, but Victoria had actually grabbed a flashlight. Couldn't really convince herself to cut Victoria loose.

“Can you, like, _not_ be a total bitch for five minutes?” said Victoria. “Or does _Maxine_ need to put you back on the leash?”

Chloe snorted. Was Victoria really doing this? Stirring up shit when they were looking for Eliot? Sure, Chloe had kind of started it. But she felt like Victoria was digging into her on purpose, like they were just feeding off each others' dislike. That was fine. Chloe never got the chance to take Victoria down a peg while they were going to school together. Better late than never.

“The only thing _Max_ needs to do is stop trusting assholes like you,” said Chloe.

She stopped and spun to face Victoria.

“We're not friends, Victoria,” said Chloe. “We will _never_ be friends. As far as I'm concerned, you can go fall in a fucking hole and rot. Get that through your bleached skull.”

Victoria folded her arms, one eyebrow raised. She looked unimpressed, like she'd heard worse. Given the type of people she hung around with, this was probably true.

“Like I want to be friends with _you,”_ said Victoria. “Pretty sure there's no room for me in whatever weird threesome you've got going on.”

Chloe turned away and kept going. How long was this fucking hallway? Did it just go on forever? And why was it so narrow? All questions Chloe could have asked Victoria, but she decided not to.

“What are you talking about?” said Chloe.

She was walking faster, forcing Victoria to pick up the pace.

“Eliot and Max,” said Victoria. “You know, your little toys. Those poor dumbasses you tricked into feeling sorry for Chloe fucking Price.”

Chloe picked up the pace, striding even faster. She didn't pause, even as her stomach churned with anger. If she stopped moving, there was a ninety-percent chance Chloe was going to just spin around and deck Victoria right in her dumb face.

“And Rachel,” Victoria went on. “You know she wasn't into you, right? She just felt sorry for poor Chloe Price, the girl no one at Blackwell gave a shit about. You do know she was banging Nathan on the side, don't you? Nathan and half the fucking football team.”

Chloe was practically running now. _Goddam_ _m_ _it._ Why wasn't this hallway ending? Why wasn't Victoria _shutting the fuck up?_

“You are _such_ an idiot,” said Victoria. “She was using you, just like she used everyone. Why would Rachel Amber care about a loser like you?”

Chloe finally stopped and whirled around, her fists clenched. For a split second, Chloe thought she was actually going to do it. Thought she was going to break that pretty face with her fist. But Chloe held back, the same way she'd held back when she could have shot Nathan. _Dammit._ What the hell was Max doing to her?

“How would you know?” said Chloe. “You didn't even fucking know her. But I did. And I know she loved me. And your _boyfriend_ Nathan took her away from me.”

She stepped closer, getting right in Victoria's face.

“This isn't one of your stupid Vortex Club parties,” said Chloe. “This is real life. Nathan Prescott isn't just some little kid throwing tantrums. And if we don't take him down, he's going to kill everyone here, including you. Do you fucking understand?”

Victoria held up both hands. She clearly wasn't used to having so little authority.

“Okay okay,” said Victoria. “That wasn't cool. I get it. I'm stressed. Leave me alone.”

Chloe snorted. She didn't buy that, but she backed off. Victoria probably _was_ stressed, but that probably wasn't why she was lashing out like this. Chloe always knew Victoria hated her guts. That was okay with her. The feeling was mutual.

They'd finally reached the end of the hallway. And of course no sign of Eliot, even though they'd been searching for a while.

Chloe hoped they weren't in store for another dead body. She was pretty sure Eliot was alive because, well, she wanted him to be. They were friends, at least sort of. Eliot offered Chloe support and understanding at a time when no one else in her life seemed to give a shit. Even Joyce had withdrawn to focus on her own healing. But Eliot? Eliot was always there for her, even when it inconvenienced him.

But Eliot was never going to be Max. He was way too overbearing, too overprotective, too focused on certain aspects of Chloe's personality Sure, he could be an amazing friend sometimes. He got her tickets to that Firewalk concert. But he was also hyper-fixated on her in a way that made Chloe feel smothered. She didn't need that kind of attention. Even Rachel had understood that Chloe needed to breathe. And of course Eliot never approved of Rachel and Chloe's relationship, because he thought Rachel was a “bad influence”. What did that even mean?

Chloe hoped Max was having better luck. Chloe hated to admit it, but she just needed a break from her best friend. She needed to get away and legitimately think about what it meant to be Max Caulfield's friend.

Chloe smiled. Maybe Max wasn't perfect, but her hugs were so warm and genuine. They made Chloe feel like no time had even passed, like their friendship had been entirely consistent. They made Chloe hopeful for an awesome future.

 

**Max**

Dana cried out as Max bumped into her again.

“Hey, you there?” said Dana.

Max blinked. She'd been zoning out again. This was maybe the fifth time since they'd started their search. Max felt like an asshole for getting all spacey at a time like this, but she had zero control over it. Sometimes she just got lost in her thoughts and forgot about the nightmarish situation they were all in. But instead of bringing comfort, these moments of detachment just made Max feel even worse.

“Definitely here,” said Max.

They'd been wandering around for what seemed like forever, walking down long hallways and peeking into unused rooms. No sign of Kate or Eliot. Just a bunch of furniture. And Chloe and Victoria were searching their side of the house, so Max and Dana were totally alone.

Dana was walking a little slower, scanning the walls.

“I think Victoria said there were multiple ways to get into the basement,” said Dana. “Maybe we should try down there?”

Max nodded, only half-listening. She was thinking about Chloe. Specifically, about how Chloe had essentially chosen Victoria over her. Max knew Chloe was supposed to be the jealous one, but Max still felt a little betrayed.

“Hey Dana,” said Max. “You've had friend troubles, right?”

Asking Dana for advice—especially at a time like this—made Max feel like a total loser. Social-wise, her and Dana were miles away from each other. Gorgeous cheerleader Dana probably experienced way worse drama on a daily basis.

But Dana smiled sympathetically, like she instantly cared about what Max was saying.

“Juliet can be a total bitch sometimes,” said Dana. “Nothing too bad. She's mostly the best friend a girl could have, but sometimes she can be _so_ petty. Know what I mean?”

Thinking of Chloe, Max grinned and nodded.

“Oh, totally,” said Max. “Chloe means well, but she can be such a brat. And sometimes I just have no idea what she's thinking. It's like she's mad at me all the time, but she doesn't want to be mad at me.”

There was that guilt again. Max kept falling back into that negative mindset, believing this was all her fault. Taking the blame because Chloe really had nothing to do with any of it. But at the end of the day, who the hell was Max supposed to blame? It was just one of those things. No reason to be mad about it.

Except the part where Max went complete no-contact while she was gone. That was completely Max's fault. Sure, she'd been egged on by her parents—who'd clearly never liked the Prices for purely superficial reasons—but Max _did_ have a mind of her own. So yeah, she'd fucked up. That was indisputable. So how was Max supposed to make it up to Chloe? How was she supposed to patch up their relationship and move forward without getting constantly dragged back into the past?

“You'll get through it,” said Dana. “She's talking to you, right? She's trying to connect with you, even though she's pissed off? That's a good sign.”

Max would have had an easier time believing that if Chloe hadn't ditched her to hang out with Victoria. Maybe this was Max's karma—since she'd essentially done the exact same thing—but Max wasn't convinced Chloe and Victoria wouldn't end up killing each other before they found Eliot or Kate.

Dana smiled.

“You're super lucky to have a friend like Chloe,” said Dana. “You two belong together.”

Less than two hours ago, Max would have been uncertain. She would have wondered if she was ever going to click with this new blue-haired Chloe. But these two versions of Chloe were starting to blend together in Max's head. She no longer saw much of a difference.

 

**Chloe**

It had to be dawn soon, right?

Chloe kept asking herself this. She felt like she was never going to see sunlight again. They'd spent so much time in the dark and cold, surrounded by the watching eyes of a dozen hidden cameras. Chloe was looking forward to getting back home. She had a thousand things to say to her mom. Mostly apologies for her shitty behavior.

_If_ she ever got home. Chloe had to give herself a reality check every few minutes. There was a fifty-fifty chance she was making it out of this. And somewhere along the way, someone was definitely getting hurt. Hopefully Nathan.

“I'm sorry,” said Victoria for the millionth time.

She'd been apologizing like crazy for about ten minutes. It was like she finally realized that treating people like shit wasn't going to get her anywhere. Maybe her snide comments kept her goons in line, but Chloe was a different story.

“Whatever,” said Chloe.

She legitimately didn't give a fuck. Victoria could be sorry to her heart's content. Wouldn't change a damn thing. Only Max—and maybe Joyce—were high level enough to earn instant forgiveness for whatever bullshit they did.

They were checking out the guest bedrooms. According to Victoria, there were about four or five bedrooms, all currently unoccupied. But Nathan had to be setting up base camp somewhere, right? Why not a comfy room with a bed?

Victoria threw up her arms, like she was fed up with Chloe being so difficult. Because it was _Chloe_ being difficult, right? _Ugh._

Chloe peered into the empty bedroom, flashlight aimed right into the heart of the darkness. No sign of Nathan. Where had that asshole fucked off to? Was the bastard just staying ahead of them, changing hiding spots every five or ten minutes? Chloe could totally buy that, but how was that dickhead moving around the house without anyone seeing him?

She sighed. Chloe bet Max had an answer for that. A really good one. But of course Chloe was shit out of luck on that front.

“Dammit,” said Chloe.

She swung around and started down the hallway. Only three or four bedrooms to go.

The fact they hadn't found a single trace of Nathan was what really got to her. They _knew_ he was there. Lurking in the shadows, probably moving through those secret passages. Staying out of sight like a rat. And _watching_ them.

Chloe smiled bitterly. There was a seventy-percent chance Eliot was dead. He'd probably gone out the same way Warren had. Because that always happened, right? Everyone who got close to Chloe Price ended up hurt. Sometimes they brought it on themselves, other times it was just dumb luck. Her dad, Max, Rachel, and now Eliot. Not a good track record.

What was it about Chloe that made people want to be around her? Did they think they could _save_ her? Eliot definitely seemed to think he was Chloe's knight in shining armor. And Max had some kind of weird faith in her, even though Chloe had been a little too bitchy during their reunion. And Rachel had been fascinated with Chloe for some reason.

Well, Chloe didn't need to be saved. The therapist had already tried that and it didn't work out. And of course Joyce only cared about healing herself, even dragging some total stranger into their lives while Chloe was still trying to get over her dad's death. If even Chloe Price couldn't save Chloe Price, what hope did Max or Eliot have?

“Hello?” said Victoria.

She patted Chloe's shoulder to get her attention.

Chloe jumped. She didn't realize she'd been just standing in the hallway, staring at a closed bedroom door. Now that she came back down to Earth, Chloe expected to realize that she'd been crying or some shit. But when she raised a hand to her face, it was completely dry. Of course it was. Chloe hadn't cried—actually _sobbed—_ in years.

Rolling her eyes, Victoria shoved Chloe aside and grabbed the doorknob. She gave it a big yank, almost stumbling backward as her grip reflexively loosened. Her eyes widened and she frowned. Locked.

“What the fuck?” said Victoria. “None of these are supposed to be locked.”

She tapped her fist against the door, like she thought whoever was in there might let her in. Chloe tensed, half-afraid that Nathan was about to fire a round right through that door. Fortunately, nothing stirred on the other side. Either Nathan was sound asleep or he wasn't in there.

“You can pick locks, right?” said Victoria.

Chloe was instantly offended. Okay, _maybe_ her dealer had taught her a thing or two about stuff like that. And _maybe_ she kept some of the stuff on her. But still, who the fuck was Victoria to just say something like that?

“Why do you think that?” said Chloe. “Because I'm a fucking criminal?”

Victoria folded her arms and averted her eyes.

“No,” she said. “You're just, you know, resourceful. You know how to get out of sticky situations. So lockpicking.”

Chloe was about to laugh in Victoria's face, but she could tell Victoria was sincere. _Wow._ An actual compliment from Victoria Chase? Either Chloe was dreaming or Victoria had hit her head at some point. Or alternatively, maybe Victoria felt rightfully shitty about everything she'd said?

“Yeah,” said Chloe.

She handed Victoria the flashlight, then knelt in front of the door. There was only one minor hiccup, not that Victoria needed to know about it. Chloe wasn't exactly _good_ at picking locks. When Frank first showed her, she thought it looked super easy. So of course she only paid fifty-percent attention during Frank's detailed demonstration. And Chloe was a fast learner, but not fast enough to pick up something so complicated. If it had been science, math, or mechanics, it would have been a whole other story.

Fortunately, the Prescotts hadn't exactly blown their budget on locks. Within a few minutes of jimmying, Chloe heard the lock click. Having never really used her thief skill before, Chloe was pleasantly surprised. Out of all the things the almighty Sean Prescott could have skimped out on, it was _locks?_ That was unexpected.

Chloe stood up, relatively proud of herself. She would have been hella self-congratulatory, but she knew Victoria would get bitchy again.

“Guess the Price is right,” said Chloe.

Victoria squinted at her, like Chloe had started speaking an alien language.

“ _What?”_ said Victoria.

Chloe blushed. Good thing Max hadn't heard her say that. It would have opened a whole new can of painful memories.

“Nothing,” said Chloe. “Something my dad used to say.”

She grabbed the knob and pushed open the door, praying Victoria wouldn't ask follow-up questions. How much did Victoria even know about Chloe's life? Chloe assumed that everyone at school knew about her dead dad, but now Chloe realized that probably more than half of the student base had no idea. It wasn't something Chloe liked to bring up in conversation and she definitely didn't throw it around for sympathy. When she got down to it, Rachel Amber was probably the only other Blackwell student—besides Eliot—Chloe had actually told.

Of course it was almost pitch black in the bedroom. And the second Chloe took the flashlight from Victoria, it started to flicker.

“Shit,” said Chloe.

She gave the flashlight a big shake, trying to make it light up. When that didn't work, she started pounding her open palm against it. It was one of those big old ones, the kind that weighed a ton and probably hadn't been used in who-even-knows-how-many years. It felt like a fucking brick in Chloe's hand.

Victoria pulled out her phone and activated the flashlight on it. The beam wasn't quite as strong, but it also wasn't flickering.

Chloe tossed the flashlight aside. She heard it roll across the floor, but she didn't stop to wonder where it had ended up.

“Thanks,” said Chloe.

She sounded sarcastic and ungrateful, but she was legitimately very thankful. Victoria had been an asshole, but at least she was a _useful_ asshole. Well, when she wanted to be. Victoria seemed perfectly content to stand by and let Chloe do all the dirty work. Couldn't risk ruining those perfect nails.

Victoria shone her flashlight across the room in an slow arc, letting them both take in their surroundings. It was a pretty standard bedroom. Identical to the others, except the two beds were placed differently and the closet was on the opposite side.

Chloe went in first, Victoria trailing behind with their only source of light.

Chloe didn't have high hopes. There had to be a reason this room was locked, but the reason was probably boring. A bunch of rooms in the Prescott mountain estate were just randomly locked. If every single one was hiding a dark secret, Chloe was prepared to give up.

Both beds looked undisturbed. Clearly no one had been sleeping in there. The guests hadn't really gotten to that part.

Chloe knelt beside the first bed. She wanted to see if there was a trap door or something underneath. That would have been hella amazing. Probably filled with horror and nightmares, but awesome. And Chloe really wanted to find some big clue. She wanted Max to be impressed.

But there was nothing under the bed, or at least nothing Chloe could see. No trap door, no box full of secrets. And of course no sign of Kate, Eliot, or Nathan.

Chloe moved to the second bed. This time she pulled back the covers, her heart leaping at the idea of finding another dead body. But there was nothing under the covers. No sign the bed had ever been slept in. No blood, no weird smells.

She dropped to her knees beside the second bed, practically lying on the floor as she slid both hands underneath. Chloe wasn't sure what she wanted to find. Hopefully nothing gross, like a body part or Nathan's porn stash. Actually, Chloe would have taken the body part over finding out what Nathan Prescott jacked off to. They would have both freaked her out, but in different ways.

Chloe's heart nearly crammed itself into her throat. There _was_ something under the bed. An actual something. It felt like a box.

Victoria moved closer, angling the light so she could see what Chloe was pulling from under the bed. She looked worried. Chloe actually felt the tiniest bit of sympathy for Victoria. If this was something really bad—and how could it not be?--then Victoria was about to have her world-view shattered for the third or fourth time. Chloe knew what it was like to feel betrayed by a good friend.

It was an old shoe box, probably once containing the most expensive pair of sneakers known to mankind. Chloe didn't recognize the logo. Some brand the Prices would have never been able to afford. Even the box looked hella fancy. What was something like this doing underneath a bed in a locked guest room?

“What is it?” said Victoria.

Chloe rolled her eyes. How the fuck was she supposed to know? She ignored Victoria's stupid question, focusing on getting the box open. It wasn't locked or anything. There wasn't so much as a note on the front warning them to keep out.

This had to be Nathan's stash. Chloe was a little surprised. Nathan didn't seem like the type to hide weed in a box under his bed. That was more of a Chloe thing. But some things were just universal.

Chloe opened the box. Well, if it _was_ Nathan's stash, she was definitely going to light up. Maybe this was the worst time to blaze, but Chloe was in serious need of some chill time. And Nathan could afford the good shit. Of course he'd never hooked Chloe up, but Chloe had heard the stories. Those Vortex Club parties could get insane.

Chloe let out a long sigh of disappointment. Of course it wasn't weed. No, that would have been way too convenient.

It was magazines. Fucking _magazines._ A whole stack of them. Chloe barely glanced at the cover of the top one. She really didn't need to know what Nathan was into. It was kind of bizarre. The fact that underneath all that anger and psychopathy, Nathan was a normal red-blooded teenager. But then again, didn't all monsters have a human side? Yeah, that sounded like the kind of profound shit Max would have said.

“Is that Photo Beat?” said Victoria.

At Victoria's words, Chloe actually looked at the cover. From the brief glimpse, she'd assumed it was porn. She saw a half-naked woman and automatically didn't want to know anymore. But when Chloe looked again, she realized the magazine definitely wasn't smut. It looked like one of those super-popular photography magazines. The kind that Max would have loved.

Chloe picked up the magazine. The woman on the cover was pretty hot and her outfit left barely anything to the imagination. But weren't these magazines always filled with attractive women? That was the only thing that kept Chloe going back when she read them. Soon after Max left, Chloe started reading photography magazines. She didn't know why. Maybe she thought Max would come back if Chloe took a bigger interest in Max's hobbies. Whatever the reason, Chloe got bored within a week and threw them all away.

So why did Nathan Prescott have a bunch of photography magazines in a box under a bed? It made zero sense. Did Sean Prescott have something against his son's photo hobby? No, there was no way. Sean Prescott was the one who paid for all that hella fancy equipment.

Chloe groaned. If only Max was there. Max would have figured it out in five seconds. But the more Chloe thought about it, the less she could wrap her head around it.

The other magazines were the same. Photography magazines. Nothing even slightly erotic. Some of them were foreign, others were from all the way across the country. And all of them looked boring as hell. No offense to Max, but Chloe just wasn't into pictures. But of course Max was enamored with all of that shit. Pointing her camera at everything, taking a dozen photos of Chloe. Chloe didn't get why Max used to love taking pictures of her. It wasn't like Chloe was a supermodel or anything.

“ _Dude, you're totally pretty,”_ Max had said once. “ _Why wouldn't I take pictures of you?”_

Chloe had playfully slapped Max's arm, her cheeks red with embarrassment. Even now, Chloe still blushed as she remembered that conversation. Other than Rachel Amber and Eliot, Max was probably the only person in Arcadia Bay who thought Chloe fucking Price was pretty.

There was something underneath the magazines. A pile of Polaroids. Chloe almost didn't see them. Victoria was doing a terrible job of keeping the light steady.

Chloe picked up one of the photos and squinted at it.

“Ugh, where the fuck are the lights?” said Victoria.

She handed her phone to Chloe, then went in search of the light switch. They probably should have done that sooner, but they hadn't been thinking about stuff like that.

Aiming the phone's flashlight, Chloe was finally able to get a decent look at the photograph. It was a little washed out because Chloe was aiming the phone's light directly at it, so she raised her arm a little. With the light less focused on the picture, she was able to make out what it was. At first she thought it was a tree or something, but than Chloe recognized the person sitting underneath the tree.

Chloe's step-douche was totally paranoid. She knew for a fact that he kept a bunch of creepy files in the garage. And Chloe was sure there were cameras all over the house, even though she had zero proof. Chloe didn't know or care how many people at Blackwell her step-douche was stalking. She didn't ask and he didn't tell. He had plenty of stuff to yell at Chloe about without her being nosy.

But Chloe sort of understood why David was paranoid. Blackwell had some pretty dark corners. From the Prescotts and their filthy money to the sheer amount of drug use going on. And Chloe was a hundred percent sure the principal was drunk 24/7. Blackwell was a shit-covered school in a shit-covered town.

Chloe's hands shook. Maybe David was right to follow Blackwell students and keep records on some of them.

_Max._ Why did Nathan Prescott have a photo of Max? A photo Max clearly wasn't aware was being taken.

They were all photos of Max. Max in the hallway, Max heading towards the bus, Max sitting beside her window and playing guitar. All of them candid, like someone had been following her and taking shot after shot.

Chloe's stomach was churning with rage. She felt like she was going to puke all over herself. Of course she knew Nathan was a sick fuck. A disgusting, twisted human being with a gross adoration for pain and death. A delusional stalker who was totally in love with Rachel Amber. But Rachel Amber was dead.

Chloe loosened her grip, letting the photo flutter back into the box. She heard Victoria trying the light switch, flipping it incessantly. The sound was rhythmic, but not at all comforting.

Rachel was dead. But Max wasn't. No, Max was very much alive. And it seemed like Nathan was after her.


	14. Bunker

**Max**

Max ran both hands across the wall, feeling for an opening.

There _had_ to be a secret room. The map promised. And even though it was a peace offering from Victoria Chase of all people, Max trusted that little piece of paper. So if it said there was a secret room off the hidden study, it _had_ to be there.

Was she just wasting time? Wasting time while something awful happened to Kate and Eliot? Those two must have been scared shitless. And Max was just standing there like an idiot, clawing at a wall that probably wasn't going to open.

Max backed away from the wall. Okay, so maybe this secret room was even more secret than Max thought it was. And if she was being honest, the location made zero sense. Why have one off from an already hidden study? What was it even going to be? Another fucking Rachel shrine or some equally dumb and creepy bullshit?

Dana was perched on the edge of the desk, her arms folded. She looked like she was posing for a sexy photo shoot or something. How did Dana have the uncanny ability to look stunning regardless of the situation? Max was a hundred percent sure she looked like utter ass right now, but Dana was practically glowing.

“Find anything?” said Dana.

Dana had already scoured the whole room herself. There wasn't much to find. All the desk drawers were either locked or empty. And despite tapping on several walls, Dana hadn't found an entrance to the supposed secret room indicated on the map.

Max groaned. Her gut was telling her to drop this.

“Nope,” said Max.

She ran her hands across the wall one last time. Feeling nothing, she backed away. If there was a secret room, Max had no clue how she was supposed to get into it. Bust through the wall with her bare hands? Yeah, that seemed like Max's only option. There was no panel or opening for Max to stick her fingers in.

She pulled out the map, scanning it for more secret rooms. _Holy shit._ There were a bunch of them. Just a ton of passages and rooms leading off from other rooms. The house was a fucking maze.

But there _was_ something that looked promising. Max almost didn't see it. At first she assumed it was the basement or another secret passage leading into the mine. But then Max noticed the weird shape of it and how the entrance seemed to be right underneath them. No, that wasn't just the basement. It was a different area that seemed to _connect_ to the basement. In fact, a ton of the secret passages and stuff seemed to connect to the basement in some way or another.

Max tapped her foot against the floor, like she thought it might just give way and show them something. She had a gut feeling that Kate or Eliot or maybe both were down there in that secret place. Maybe they'd escaped and found their way into the actual basement. Definitely possible. Definitely likely that the two of them were alive down there, right?

Dana hopped off the desk and approached Max. She must have noticed the focused expression on Max's face.

“You got something?” she said.

Max indicated the secret entrance right under the room they were in. The basement was legitimately massive. But then again, so was the house. The weird part was how it was split into so many sections.

Dana stared at the map for about a minute. She then headed to the middle of the room, her expression oddly focused. She looked like she was running through a pretty big theory in her head. Something that she wasn't sure made any sense, yet it was becoming more plausible by the second. Max definitely knew that feeling.

Wordlessly, Dana put both hands on the desk and started pushing. It was a big desk, or at least as big as it was allowed to be without taking up the whole room. But Dana wasn't weak. She might have looked like the personification of the gorgeous cheerleader stereotype, but Max suspected Dana hit the gym at least once a weak.

With Max's help, Dana was able to move the desk aside. Max hardly felt like she did anything, which seemed off. Dana was _a lot_ skinnier than Max. Maybe Dana was just more experienced in the realm of moving furniture?

It had been right under their noses the whole time. Max wanted to be pissed at herself, but how the hell was she supposed to know it was there? Maybe if it had been under a rug or something, she would have noticed it. But under that heavy fucking desk? Max was surprised Dana had even thought to look there. And without the map, there was no way Max would have even considered the possibility. What even was this house?

Dana tapped the hatch with her foot. It wasn't locked or anything. Somehow that made Max nervous. Why _not_ lock a hidden hatch that clearly led to an area filled with stuff the Prescotts didn't want other people to see? Why just trust that no one would think to move that specific desk?

Max and Dana knelt down in front of the hatch. It took a few seconds of pulling to get it open. And when it finally flew open, they were both hit with a blast of _something._ A weird smell neither of them were prepared for.

Max covered her nose. _Ugh._ What _was_ that? Chemicals? It smelled like the hallway of a hospital. It was like someone had just spilled a bunch of cleaning fluid everywhere. The aroma was actually making Max a little lightheaded until she plugged her nose. Who knew Sean Prescott was such a clean freak?

There was a staircase leading down into a hallway. Max could see pristine walls, but not where the hallway ended. Probably another door or something.

“They've gotta be down there,” said Dana.

She sounded so sure of herself that Max instantly believed it. If Kate and Eliot had ended up anywhere, down there seemed like their best bet. Whether they were actually alive or not was a whole different story.

And honestly, she wasn't sure which one she wanted to be alive. Of course Kate was her friend, but Eliot—as weird as he was—clearly meant something to Chloe.

Of course there was the possibility that _Nathan_ was down there. Down there with Chloe's gun, a shitload of chemicals, and a shit-eating grin. The possibility made going down into that area seem like the worst idea ever. But did Max actually have a choice?

She started down the stairs. Max wasn't ready for Nathan. She wasn't brave or seemingly bulletproof like Chloe. But Max _was_ ready to escape. And if she couldn't escape with all or most of her friends, what was even the point?

 

**Kate**

Kate collapsed onto the couch, pressing a hand against her sweaty forehead.

She couldn't believe they'd made it back to “safety”. And she was using that word lightly. But the living room was the first—and last—place Kate had ever felt safe at the Prescott mountain estate. So despite everything, she was glad to be back.

Where the heck was everyone? Had they just _left?_ Were Kate and Frank totally alone in the house, pursued by Nathan and abandoned by everyone else? No, there was no way. No way Max and the others bailed while Kate was missing.

Frank reclined next to Kate. He had no reason to feel safe, but he seemed to have decided that the living room was an okay place to rest. He didn't seem antsy and his eyes weren't restless. Both very good signs.

“So about your friends...,” said Frank.

He appeared to instantly regret his snarky tone. Kate was willing to bet this was a first for Frank Bowers. Kate had—mostly subconsciously—created this image in her head. This picture of a rough, morally bankrupt man with no redeeming qualities. But that was unfair, even if Kate never voiced her opinions. Could she blame Frank for being corrupt in a place like Arcadia Bay? Kate was starting to think that everyone in this town was hiding something.

“I don't know,” said Kate.

That was pretty much a blanket statement. Kate didn't know anything. She didn't know where her friends were, how the heck they were going to escape, and how they were supposed to stop Nathan before he killed both of them.

“Think you can find me a first aid kit or something?” said Frank.

Kate had no idea where she'd even start looking for something like that. In their luggage, most of which was still by the front door? Kate's memories were a little hazy, but she was the kind of person who would have packed a first aid kit.

Kate didn't want to take her eyes off Frank, but she decided to risk it. It wasn't like she was going to the moon.

She went to the entranceway and started digging through the luggage. There was so much of it. Kate had no idea which of it was hers. Maybe she'd taken her stuff up to one of the guest rooms? Kate no longer remembered. Half of what she'd experienced up until waking up in that basement area was just gone. Was it because she'd been drugged or was it a simple lapse of memory due to all the messed up crap she'd experienced since then?

Kate unzipped a canvas bag that looked vaguely familiar. She frowned as a bunch of clothes that definitely weren't hers came tumbling out. _Crap._ Kate felt like she was snooping through her friends' luggage.

She started stuffing clothes back into the bag, blushing as she tried to cover up her accidental nosiness. Maybe no one would notice? And even if they did, did Kate actually care at this point? There were worse sins being committed within those walls.

Kate felt something solid, something that stuck out among the clothes. Her heart leaped. It felt like a box or something. Maybe a first aid kit? At this point, Kate didn't care if it was hers. If she could just treat Frank's leg properly, all would be forgiven.

Telling herself that this totally didn't count as stealing or snooping, Kate started moving clothes aside. She felt around for the box thing. It didn't feel big enough to be an actual first aid kit, but it probably had some bandages or something.

Kate frowned. Okay, the thing was definitely solid and therefore not a shirt or a pair of pants. But it also wasn't a box. Kate wasn't sure why she'd thought that. Probably wishful thinking. No, it felt like an object that someone had shoved into the canvas bag along with their clothes. Maybe it was make-up or something? A weird place to put it, but Kate didn't have the energy to judge. But she _did_ have the energy to find out what the heck it was, in case it was something helpful.

She knew what it was within seconds of wrapping her hand around it. Even before she pulled it out, Kate could feel her heart pumping like crazy. Because it _couldn't_ be what it felt like, right? Not in this canvas bag.

Kate wasn't even sure how she knew what it felt like. She'd never held one of those things before. Kate wanted to let go of it, to back away from the canvas bag and forget about this. But she couldn't. She couldn't just let go and move on.

As her hand finally emerged, Kate let out a cry of alarm. Without thinking, she tossed the object across the floor. An instant before it left her hand, Kate was filled with panic. She expected it to go off, for this to be the worst mistake she'd made that night. Fortunately, it didn't go off.

A gun. Someone had hidden a gun in their canvas bag.

 

**Max**

Max and Dana had hit a dead end. Well, not a _dead_ dead end. More like the end of that short hallway at the end of the stairs. And at the end of that hallway was a door. A door with a combination lock. _Shit._

Max started to reach towards the keypad, but she pulled her hand back like it had been burnt. No way was she touching that. That thing looked pretty high tech. Max couldn't imagine what would happen if she got the code wrong twice.

“ _Fuck,”_ said Dana.

She pressed both hands against the door, like she thought she could just push it open with the power of raw strength. But it was the big metal kind. No crowbar or sledgehammer could have gotten through it. Brute force wasn't even an option.

Max leaned towards the keypad. No eye or fingerprint scanner, just a combination lock. But where the hell was the code? In Nathan's bedroom? In Sean Prescott's head?

She tried to remember every single combination of numbers she'd seen that night. Would Sean Prescott be dumb enough to make the combination something simple, like his son's birthday? Then again, it was pretty bold of Max to assume that Sean Prescott gave a shit about his son. So it probably wasn't Nathan's birthday. Maybe Sean Prescott's own birthday? The anniversary of when Blackwell Academy was founded? Some combination of numbers important to the Prescott familyalone?

Dana playfully slapped Max's shoulder. She had that glowing smile on her face. She was clearly trying to be motivational and it was working, even though Dana hadn't said anything. There was just something about the look on Dana's face that made Max want to figure this out.

“Come on, big brain,” said Dana. “This is your shit, right? Locks and codes and snooping.”

Max blushed. Was that really what Dana—and probably all of Blackwell—thought of her? That she was nosy? Well, they weren't wrong. Max did have a habit of looking at literally everything. She called it being “observant”, everyone else called it being “nosy”.

Max studied the keypad. Could she break the thing? Probably not. And even if she took a hammer to it, what would that accomplish? But it _did_ look pretty breakable. It was clearly high tech, but it had been there for a long while. Some of the numbers were worn, like they'd been pressed a dozen times over.

Curious, Max made note of which numbers were especially worn. Four of them looked like they'd been used more than any of the others. A four-digit code? That made sense. But what was the order?

According to those two green lights to the side of the keypad, Max had two chances to get the code right. If she fucked it up twice, it would probably auto-lock.

Without a word, Dana reached around Max and started hitting numbers on the keypad. Max wanted to yell at her to stop, but it was too late. Dana was already tapping away, oblivious to the panic on Max's face.

To Max's surprise, both lights beside the keypad suddenly flashed. She heard the sound of the huge door unlocking. _No fucking way._ It couldn't be that simple.

“How...?” said Max.

Dana smiled, rightfully proud of herself.

“Nathan likes to write down numbers,” said Dana. “He's always forgetting his PIN number, so I suggested he write it down. Good thing Nathan's shit keeping his stuff hidden. He just left it on his desk.”

_Oh right._ Dana was technically in Nathan's inner circle. Maybe not his best friend, but a frequent attender of Vortex Club parties.

“Did you and Nathan...?” said Max.

The smile dropped off Dana's face. Max felt like an asshole for asking such an invasive question, but it was too late to take it back. The damage was already done.

“I'm not proud of it,” said Dana. “Especially now.”

She pressed her hand against the door, her expression somber.

“And before you ask, nothing really happened,” said Dana. “We were both drunk. We went up to his room, we made out, I left afterward. No big deal. If only I'd known.”

Max had never considered just how many people—especially the girls—knew Nathan was a total creep. But this whole thing was really throwing everyone for a loop. Seeing someone they thought they knew pretty well go from creep to murderer. Max had already felt pretty bad for Victoria, but now she felt bad for Dana. She felt bad for everyone Nathan considered a friend, the people who stuck up for him—like Hayden—and the people who insisted he was actually a decent guy underneath all those anger issues.

It wasn't just that everyone was wrong. It was that no one had seen this coming, despite all the signs. Nathan must have been a better pretender than Max realized. Despite being a total piece of trash, he'd managed to attract people who legitimately saw some good in him.

Max went in first. Not because she actually wanted to, but because Dana seemed to intentionally be hanging back. Max wasn't pointing any fingers. If Nathan really was in there, they were both screwed. Unless—and Max almost laughed at the idea—they could talk some sense into him without Victoria.

It wasn't immediately obvious what the hell this room was even for. Photography? Yeah, there _was_ some equipment in a corner of the room. Big fancy camera and a tripod, obviously meant for taking glamor shots. But the other stuff in the room made less sense. This definitely wasn't some fancy photo studio.

Max squinted into the overly-bright light. Someone had _totally_ been in there. Why else would the lights be on? But where the fuck had they gone?

“Is this a bunker?” said Dana.

Max's heart leaped. _Shit._ The thought had passed through her brain for a whole two seconds, but then she'd focused on that expensive camera equipment. And even though Max had literally never stepped foot in a bunker before, she had a pretty good idea of what they looked like.

And this might have been the most bunker-y bunker Max had ever seen. Dozens of shelves stacked with all kinds of canned food, an entire shelf of first aid kits, an expensive entertainment system that probably cost more than Max's entire house, a glass cabinet filled with booze, and a single bed. The whole thing probably cost even more than the estate itself.

Dana approached the glass cabinet and yanked it open. Unlocked. Max couldn't tell if it was supposed to be or not. If someone had left the thing unlocked on purpose, that probably meant they were coming back.

Dana grabbed a bottle of booze—Max couldn't tell what it was—from the cabinet and popped it open.

Max rolled her eyes. _Really?_ Sure, Max probably needed to get drunk or high. Some kind of relief before she completely lost her mind. But was now really the time?

“Seriously?” she said. “You're doing that now?”

Dana was already pouring herself a glass of the mysterious alcohol. Her hand was steady, like focusing on this mundane and familiar task was actually keeping her calm.

“Free booze,” she said. “Live a little, Max.”

She frowned.

“I need this,” she said. “Trust me, I _really_ need this.”

She took a long sip from the glass. Dana grimaced at the taste. But she swallowed her mouthful of booze, her face twisted in disgust. Dana had gotten nearly blackout drunk a thousand times before, but this was brand new territory. This was some serious liquor. Nothing like that cheap watered-down beer they served at Vortex Club parties. But Dana handled it like a pro.

Max headed over to the glass coffee table. As much as she would have loved to watch Dana get wasted, this was still technically an investigation.

There were papers spread out all over the coffee table. Random newspaper clippings. Weird how there was just a mess in an otherwise spotless room. But someone had definitely been in there. Nathan? And if so, where had he gone? Upstairs? Downstairs? The basement? The mine? Did he know Max and the others were hunting for him?

Max shuddered. Why did the Prescotts even _need_ a bunker? Max knew Sean Prescott was a weirdo, but this was insane. Or had this been Nathan's idea? Had Nathan somehow convinced his dad to do all of this?

Max bent forward to get a closer look at the coffee table. These weren't random newspaper clippings. No, there was an obvious pattern. A common trend. And when Max took a second look, it was pretty obvious.

Every single clipping was about a missing girl. Just from skimming, Max could tell that all of the girls were around her age. None older than twenty-two, but none younger than eighteen. All of them missing over a span of about three or four years. There were some from towns near Arcadia Bay, one or two from places all the way across the country. There was even one from somewhere two states over. But the overall theme was the same: missing girl, family devastated, no trace, late teens or early twenties.

Max felt sick to her stomach. Were these Nathan's _trophies?_ They had to be. Because of course corpses weren't enough. Nathan had to have his twisted little collection. Max wouldn't be surprised if he had a jar of hair for every girl he killed. Or maybe Sean and Nathan were in it together? Traveling across the country—maybe overseas—and kidnapping girls? Murdering them and stashing their bodies at this secluded mountain estate?

Max wasn't sure how to feel about Sean Prescott in this equation. If he truly had no idea what his son was doing, Max felt genuinely sad for the guy. Sure, he was a massive piece of shit, but he didn't deserve a son like Nathan.

And if Sean Prescott was in on it, Max had a much bigger problem on her hands. She'd already kind of accepted the fact that her days at Blackwell were over. If she got out of this, Max was going to bust Nathan. That in itself would signal the end of Max's time at Blackwell. But if she went after Nathan _and_ his dad? That meant the end of Max's _life._ She had no doubt Sean Prescott could destroy her, even from behind bars.

Maybe Chloe had the right idea. Going down in a blaze of glory, completely demolishing the Prescott empire. It sounded way better than becoming an enemy of Arcadia Bay's most powerful family.

“Ooooh,” said Dana.

She had wandered across the room and plopped down in a comfy leather office chair. She was now sitting behind the computer desk, giggling to herself as she swiveled in the chair. Max had no idea how wasted Dana was. It had only been a few minutes, but Dana had probably decimated half of the bottle. That could _not_ be a healthy amount of alcohol to ingest, especially at Dana's weight.

Max quickly straightened up and sprinted over to the computer desk. She wasn't sure what she was freaked out about. Maybe the idea that Dana—in her semi-drunken state—might break something? Max was shifting into babysitter mode without realizing it.

Dana laughed, swiveling even faster. Max had to admit that it looked fun. Max wished she could be enjoying herself, instead of wading neck-deep in this fucked up situation. Blissful ignorance sounded wonderful right about then.

“Comfy,” said Dana.

Max grabbed the back of the chair. It was way too late to worry about getting sued, but she still didn't want to break anything Prescott-owned unless she had to. If she'd been Chloe, she wouldn't have even needed a reason. But Max needed at least _some_ motivation before racking up those property damage charges.

“Cut it out,” said Max.

She gripped the back of the chair. Max's dad had his own premium booze collection, although it was probably nothing compared to the Prescott stash. So Max had a pretty good idea of what hard liquor—the _strong stuff—_ could do to someone. She'd pretty much grown up with precautionary stories from her parents about drinking. Max envied Dana for probably never having had to sit through five consecutive lectures about the ultimate danger of alcohol consumption.

Dana squinted.

“ _Ugh,”_ she said. “Why's there..? Why's there _two_ of you?”

_Huh?_ Max almost told Dana that there was only one of her, but she stopped.

Dana wasn't looking at her. She was focused on the computer screen. The screen had been blank a second ago, but Dana had evidently woken up the computer by accidentally nudging the mouse. Someone—likely Nathan—must have been using it a few minutes ago.

Max turned to the computer screen, her stomach in knots. She knew what she was going to see. She felt it inside her bones, like a premonition. But Max didn't believe in supernatural powers or premonitions or stuff like that. She believed in science and reality. But Max kind of wished she'd listened to her gut. Wished she'd just walked away.

It was a black and white picture of Max. The photo from her school ID, touched up in some photo-editing program. Max remembered that photo. That surge of pride that seemed to go straight through her chest. _This is it,_ she'd thought. _You're actually going to Blackwell._ She didn't even care that the photo made her look like a total loser. Max had tried—and failed—to put on a serious face. And it kind of worked, but she also looked way too somber about having her picture taken. It was supposed to be the best day of her life, not a job interview.

The photo on the computer screen had been vandalized. A big red X over each of Max's eyes, stitches scrawled over her mouth. It looked so childish, like something Victoria Chase would do. It was so juvenile that Max could have laughed.

Nathan was singling out Max as his next victim. And fortunately for him, Max was probably exactly where Nathan wanted her to be.


	15. Night Mode

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed a day, but I wanted to have Chapter 15 posted this week. So here it is. Enjoy!

**Chloe**

“Hey, what the fuck? Get back here!”

Chloe paid zero attention to Victoria. She'd lost the ability to actually hear anything outside of her own brain. There was this roaring inside her head, like she was about to explode. Worse than a headache.

_Find Nathan. Find Nathan._ The thought pounded in Chloe's skull like a war drum. Max always complained that Chloe was compulsive, that she never had a plan. Well, how was this for a fucking plan? Step 1: Find Nathan. Step 2: Tear Nathan's balls off and shove them down his throat. Step 3: Live happily ever after. Yeah, that sounded like a pretty solid plan.

Victoria grabbed Chloe's shoulders, forcing her to stop. They both came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the hallway, Victoria gripping Chloe's shoulders like she was afraid Chloe might shoot forward with the force of a bullet.

Chloe groaned. For a stuck-up bitch with a seven hundred dollar manicure, Victoria sure was _strong._ Not strong enough to actually keep Chloe in place, but strong enough to present some legitimate resistance. If it hadn't been fucking _Victoria,_ it would have been hella sexy.

“Get your hands off me,” said Chloe.

Her patience and restraint were officially worn out. She was perfectly fine with clocking Victoria in her dumb face, maybe even breaking her wrist if she had to.

Fortunately, Victoria wasn't a total dumbass. She let go immediately, releasing her vice-like grip on Chloe's shoulders. She stepped back a foot or so, holding both hands in front of her. Surrendering. Smart move. Chloe was itching to deliver a beat-down.

“Maybe you should chill,” said Victoria.

Chloe whirled away from Victoria. Her heart was pumping. She'd never been so energized and filled with purpose. Not since Rachel's death.

“Maybe you should leave me the fuck alone before I break that pretty face,” said Chloe.

She wanted to squeeze some info out of Victoria, but she knew Victoria didn't have any. Even through her anger, Chloe could tell that Victoria legitimately had no idea Nathan was this messed up. And even though it would have been an obvious team-up, Nathan clearly hadn't briefed Victoria on any of his murder plans. Well, now Chloe knew. Chloe knew and that piece of human garbage was about to pay.

“Okay, so Nathan is after Max,” said Victoria. “Big deal. He's clearly after all of us. Why is this only a huge deal _now?”_

Chloe clenched her fists. Of course Victoria couldn't get it through her thick skull. But how could Chloe expect anyone to get it? Even Max was dense sometimes. No, _most_ of the time. But Chloe and Max had something special. Something that terrified Chloe to her core. Something worth putting aside all of the abandonment and lies. And if no one else understood that, they could go screw themselves. Chloe didn't need anyone else to get it.

Nathan had killed Rachel. He'd targeted her, probably stalked her, lured her in and murdered her in cold blood. And now Nathan thought he was going to do the same thing to Max? Thought he was going to hurt Chloe _again?_ Thought he was going to just keep taking away the people Chloe actually gave a shit about? _Screw him._

Chloe started down the stairs. First she had to find Max. Make sure Max was okay. Eventually it would be Nathan time, but for now it was all about Max. Why the fuck had Chloe just let Max go? What the hell was she even thinking? _Ugh._ Never again.

The second Chloe's boot hit the bottom step, the entire world turned pitch black. Everything in front of her vanished, swallowed by a sudden blanket of darkness. She stopped dead in her tracks, staring into the nothingness. _What the hell?_ For a second, Chloe thought she'd gone blind.

The light of Victoria's phone flashlight cut through the darkness. She was standing right behind Chloe, holding the phone aloft and frowning.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” said Victoria.

She swung the light back and forth. The interior of the Prescott house looked even worse in the dark. It was like a scene from a horror flick. Long dark hallway illuminated by a rather shitty flashlight.

“Generator,” said Victoria.

Chloe grabbed Victoria's arm. Not out of fear—Chloe wasn't really scared of the dark—but because Victoria had the only light. Getting separated seemed like a pretty bad idea.

So what—or who—had knocked out the generator? The storm? Or was it Nathan? Either way, Nathan had just been handed a massive advantage. He knew every inch of this place. But Chloe and everyone else? Totally lost without a map or at least working lights.

Chloe's heartbeat increased. It was Nathan. It _had_ to be. Which meant he was making a move. A _big_ one. And Max was in way more danger.

 

**Kate**

Kate shoved the gun back into the canvas bag, her heart pumping.

She could pretend she hadn't seen that, right? Her stomach squirmed nervously at the thought, but Kate had zero clue what she was supposed to do. Figure out whose bag this was? Then what? Just drop this huge bomb on her friends? No. No way.

Kate's hand was shaking. She couldn't believe she'd actually _touched_ one of those things. _Crap._ Now her fingerprints were on it.

She straightened up and backed away from the bag. There was no name on it. No indication of who owned it. Only some that Kate didn't automatically recognize as belonging to any of her friends. Simple white shirts, what looked like at least one pair of jeans. Generic. It could have been anyone's bag.

Kate headed back to the couch. Sure, the first aid kit should have been her top priority. But suddenly she didn't want to look through her friends' bags anymore. There had to be a first aid kit somewhere in the house, right? Maybe the kitchen.

Frank had slumped forward, his arms folded. Dozed off. Lucky guy. Kate wanted to join him. Just kick up her feet and take a nice long nap. But _not_ in this place. Frank was probably used to falling asleep in dangerous places—hence the knife—but Kate had pretty bad insomnia even _without_ the threat of death over her head.

She sat down on the couch. Just a little rest. Maybe if she closed her eyes for a second, things would start making sense.

Kate shut her eyes for a minute. Well, maybe two minutes. Definitely shorter than five. Kate knew she hadn't actually dozed off for any real amount of time. Because when she jerked awake, it wasn't because Nathan grabbed her or someone came charging into the living room.

Kate was sitting in near-complete darkness. For a second, she thought she still had her eyes closed. But then Kate noticed the tiny shafts of light pouring in from the massive front windows. So she hadn't gone blind. But the lights _had_ gone out. Kate realized that pretty quickly.

She grabbed Frank's arm, digging her nails into his sleeve. Not just because she was scared of the dark, although that was definitely part of it. But Kate wanted to make sure Frank was still there. Wanted to make sure he hadn't been swallowed up by the darkness surrounding them.

Her dad had assured Kate that she could never truly be alone—the Holy Spirit was always with her, even in darkness—but Kate was having trouble buying that. If there was one place in the world the Holy Spirit would be absent, the Prescott estate seemed like a safe bet. No gods in this place, only devils.

Kate strained her ears. No footsteps. But footsteps could be muffled, right? Put on some soft shoes, avoid the creakiest floorboards, move slowly. Anyone could sneak up on them. And Kate wasn't ready.

She shut her eyes and started praying. No specific prayers. Just a few of the short ones she remembered from church. Kate tripped over several of the words, whispering frantically with her head bowed. Praying that whatever or whoever was up there would keep her and Frank safe.

Frank—probably awakened by Kate grabbing his arm—nudged her and told her to be quiet. Kate almost screamed, having ironically almost forgotten he was there.

“You want him to hear us?” he said.

Even though the prayers were keeping her calm, Kate immediately shut up. Going into full survival mode, she reached forward and grabbed her trusty crowbar from the floor. She heard what sounded like Frank getting his knife out. If Nathan _did_ want to sneak up on them, they weren't going quietly.

“We should get out of here,” said Frank.

But Kate shook her head and touched Frank's arm. Where were they supposed to go? But on the other hand, sitting in the dark and waiting for something to happen sounded colossally illogical. So what was the middle ground here?

The luggage. All those bags and suitcases near the front door. There had to be a flashlight in one of them, right? Maybe in Stella's bag? Stella seemed like the resourceful type. Not that Kate could tell which bag belonged to Stella in the dark.

“I'll be back,” said Kate.

She hopped off the couch, almost slamming her knee against the coffee table. Kate tapped her crowbar against the table, getting a feel for where it was. With its location marked out in her head, she held the crowbar in front of her. Kate jabbed it back and forth, trying to find something solid. She had a decent idea of where the front door was. But Kate was scared of bumping into something in the darkness, maybe even stumbling over something and hitting her head.

Kate found the front door before the luggage. She felt it before the crowbar even hit it, cold air squeezing through the minuscule openings in the door frame. With a good idea of where she was, Kate backtracked until she found the jumble of bags and suitcases that had been tossed into a pile by the door. She felt around with her hand and the crowbar until she was a hundred percent certain.

She was less scared of what she might find this time. But Kate was pretty sure she could identify that canvas bag again by touch alone, so at least she had a good baseline.

Kate unzipped the first bag she found and started digging around. Clothes. Make-up stuffed into an inside pocket. Was this Dana's bag? But it could have belonged to anyone, minus probably Warren. Warren didn't seem like a make-up kind of guy.

She moved onto another bag. Smaller than the first. It took Kate a few tries to fully unzip the bag. This felt like an old one, possibly secondhand. Kate couldn't imagine who it belonged to. But it felt smaller than the one she'd found the gun in.

Kate shuddered. No. _Nope._ She was _not_ thinking about that gun. She wasn't going to speculate. Wasn't going to try figuring out who it belonged to. Not right then and there.

Her heart leaped when she felt something. Something smooth. A flashlight? One of those small portable ones?

Kate felt around a little more. The thing didn't feel like a flashlight. It wasn't a cylinder. More like a square. Smooth on the side facing upward. A phone. Someone had left their phone in their bag.

She wrapped her hand around the phone and pulled it out. It wasn't a flashlight, but it would have to do.

Kate fumbled with the phone. She was scared of dropping it, but she was more scared of it being dead. Kate's sisters were always forgetting to charge their phones. She'd send them a text and it would be hours before they got back to her, even though Kate knew they had to be awake and not busy. Always the same explanation.

She hoped she'd be able to see her sisters again. Kate hoped she was going to make it out of this in one piece. She had so much stuff to tell her family. Stuff she'd been keeping bottled up for way too long. If Kate got out of this alive, she was finally going to tell her sisters and parents everything. How she felt like an outcast, all the emotional stuff she'd been going through since coming to Blackwell. Everything.

Her finger found the power button. She almost sobbed in relief when the phone screen lit up. First light she'd seen in what felt like ages. It wasn't especially strong, but it was something. A rectangle of illumination in the darkness.

“You find something, kid?” said Frank.

Kate held the phone up. She'd only glanced at the screen, but the little icon in the top right corner indicated the phone wasn't fully charged. Less than half of the battery was left.

“What now?” said Kate.

She was asking both herself and Frank. Things were looking bad. A light source that was almost out of power, no idea where anyone was, a dark house. And no answers to any of the questions piling up in Kate's brain.

“Any chance we can get that generator running?” said Frank.

The howling wind answered his question. There was no way anyone was going out in that storm. Sure, being in the dark sucked. But freezing to death was a far worse outcome.

Kate shuddered. What if _Nathan_ was out there? Skulking around, bundled up and wielding a gun or something? Kate had no doubt that Nathan had taken out the generator. Another desperate attempt to give himself an advantage. Unfortunately, it was working.

But they had to do something. Had to be ready for when the phone battery went out and they were left in the dark.

Kate picked up her crowbar. She was sick of being the hero. None of those action movies mentioned how tiring and ultimately pointless it was. Getting off your ass and pretending everything was under control, when in reality it was all falling apart. How could anyone have any control over this chaos?

“I'm going to find my friends,” she said.

She had no idea where this bravery came from or even if it would last. But Kate was tired of being alone and tired of running.

Frank waved something in the air. It glinted in the mostly pitch black room. It took Kate a minute to realize that he was waving his knife. No, not waving it. He was offering it to her. Holding it above his head, waiting for her to take it from him.

“Good luck, kid,” he said.

Kate shook her head.

“I can't take...,” she started.

But Frank shoved the knife towards her again, urging her to take it. And truth be told, Kate was tempted to grab it from him. Stabbing wasn't really her thing. Neither was bashing someone with a crowbar, but that had been self-defense.

“You need it,” said Kate.

Frank laughed bitterly. He suddenly sounded at least ten years older. Kate had assumed he was in his late thirties, maybe early forties. But when he laughed like that, he sounded more like an old man.

“Nice thought, kid,” said Frank. “Old Frank isn't getting out of this alive. I've had a good run. Made some mistakes, but I've paid my dues. Hopefully this one deed absolves me of my sins.”

He took Kate's hand, pressing the knife into it. Gently closed her hand around it, patting her knuckles and giving her a genuine smile.

“Do me a favor,” he said. “After this is all over, head out to my RV. Tell my dog that I'm sorry. Sorry I got tangled up in all this.”

Kate stepped back, knife in hand. She considered giving it back to Frank, but she knew he wouldn't take it. Frank had done a lot of wrong in his life. Kate knew it wasn't her place to forgive him for his sins, but she was willing to give him the benefit of a doubt. Willing to let his actions speak for whatever future he envisioned for himself.

“Tell him yourself, Frank,” said Kate. “I'm going to find you a first aid kit. I'll come back for you. I promise.”

She gave Frank a hug. She wasn't sure it was something he needed, but he didn't push her away.

 

**Max**

Had Nathan left all of this stuff there on purpose? Was he trying to freak Max out?

Max wrapped her arms around herself and shivered. She wished Chloe was holding her. Wished Chloe was standing right there, getting madder and madder. Max could have gone for some classic Chloe rage right about then. Something to take her mind off the fact that she was on Nathan Prescott's hit list.

So this was Nathan's real base of operations. He'd probably been hiding out there since the party started. Popping up every now and then to finish one of them off. If it hadn't been for the immediate danger they were in, Max would have taken a few minutes to admire Nathan's ingenuity.

But if Max was his _real_ target, why go after the others? Was she his real target or just his _main_ target? Why single out Max Caulfield, the weirdo with a camera who'd done literally nothing to the Prescotts? The girl who didn't even really _know_ Nathan until she started going to Blackwell less than four months ago?

It couldn't be random. Not with this high tech set-up. No, Nathan was targeting Max for a reason.

“Ooooh, weird,” said Dana.

She was sitting at Nathan's computer, scrolling through what looked like a gallery of photos. Probably Nathan's best work. Some gloomy nature scenes, sad-looking people, cloudy skies. Nathan had his own creepy style. He seemed to prefer black and white. Soft smoky grays and tons of shadows.

Max looked away. Nathan had talent. That was probably the worst part of this. The realization that Nathan could have been an amazing artist, maybe one of the best. But he wasted it on this disgusting fucked up crap. So this was what it meant to be a Prescott. Talented and intelligent, but messed up in the head.

What was it Mr. Jefferson said about talent? “Talent breeds jealousy, jealousy breeds hatred, and hatred kills art”? Or something equally profound. Max was seeing a lot of art and a lot of hatred inside Nathan Prescott.

Her arms wrapped around herself, Max looked around. Tried to spot a good place to sit. Max was eager to get out of this weird place, but she was afraid her legs were going to collapse. She'd kind of been pushing herself. Pretending all of this wasn't getting to her. But with only Dana to witness her breakdown, Max felt a lot less badass.

At least Nathan wasn't there at the moment, so they were safe. And if Max _was_ Nathan's main target, maybe everyone who wasn't directly in Nathan's way—like Warren had been—was perfectly safe for now? Of course, there was Chloe, but Max wanted— _needed—_ to believe that Chloe could take of herself. Max just wasn't sure how everyone else Nathan had targeted so far—other than maybe Stella and Daniel, the two who'd actively tried to get help—fit into this.

That fancy couch looked really comfy, but Max decided to pass. It was way too _Prescott_ for her. And as silly as it sounded in her head, Max was afraid of leaving a butt print or something. The less traces her and Dana left, the better for their survival.

There was a trunk—black and silver—between two shelves. Probably filled with expensive photo equipment or something. The kind of high-tech gear Max would have went nuts over.

If they were going to the police about this—and Max doubted they were, but there was always a chance—they needed evidence. Some proof that the Prescotts had been up to some shady shit. Something small enough to at least prompt an investigation. It was a long shot, but it was one of the few shots Max could take. Because if they got out of this alive, Nathan Prescott was fucking dead. One way or another.

Max went over to the trunk and knelt in front of it. Of course it was locked. Nathan wouldn't want someone pilfering all his expensive photo bling. If there _was_ a camera in there, Max was definitely going to consider just snatching it. Screw Nathan. He didn't deserve whatever fancy equipment he'd bought with his rich daddy's money.

She straightened up. There was only one way she was getting into that trunk. The Chloe Method.

She shut her eyes. Okay, what numbers came to mind when she thought of Nathan? Well, his birthday first of all. And of course Max knew the date, because Nathan couldn't shut up about it. But what else? The date Blackwell Academy was founded? Max hadn't memorized that one, but she could take an educated guess.

Dana touched Max's shoulder.

Max flinched, but she didn't jump out of her skin. She'd sensed Dana coming up behind her.

“Can I try?” said Dana.

Max shrugged. She was still putting together numbers in her head. No reason not to let Dana mess with it while she was busy.

Dana knelt in front of the trunk. Despite all the stuff she'd been through, she still looked gorgeous in that outfit. Worse for wear, but still drop-dead beautiful. Max wanted to be envious, but mostly she was impressed. She'd mistaken Dana for another stereotypical cheerleader, just like everyone else at Blackwell. But even back when Max was naive, she'd still seen something in Dana. A spark of genuine intelligence and talent.

Dana seemed to have sobered up very quickly. Maybe remembering what happened to Hayden had lit up something in her brain. Maybe the full danger of the situation had hit her and she'd forced herself to sober up. Either way, she was still a little unsteady on her feet and her words were slightly slurred.

Dana grabbed the padlock and started putting in numbers. She looked like she'd done this before, but Max didn't ask about it. Probably another long story. Something Max didn't want to know until they were all miles away from the Prescott mountain estate.

The lock clicked, the padlock detaching and clattering to the floor. The sound made Max flinch again.

“How the fuck?” said Max.

Okay, now she was convinced. Dana was truly the Keymaster. Either that or she'd been training under Chloe in her spare time. This couldn't have been Dana's first time breaking into someone's private stash.

Dana wasn't smiling.

“Rachel Amber's birthday,” she said.

Max stared at the fallen padlock. Of course it was the one date she never would have thought of. And even if she had, Max probably wouldn't have bothered trying it.

Sometimes she forgot that Rachel was a real person. The way Chloe talked about it, Max almost felt like Rachel was some kind of ethereal being or a low level chaos entity. A beautiful flawless deity living in the hellhole known as Arcadia Bay. But Rachel Amber wasn't some kind of fantasy creature. She was an actual human being. She had a birthday, feelings, character flaws. And Chloe had seen something in her. Something that must have felt like magic.

But Nathan had taken that magic away. He'd taken one of the few good things in Chloe's life and disposed of it like trash.

Max knelt down. Her heart was pounding out of her chest. Well, Nathan Prescott was never going to hurt Chloe again. Not as long as Max Caulfield was still breathing. Who gave a shit if Nathan was after her? Chloe was the one who mattered. And Chloe was going to hurt worse than anyone else if Max died that night.

Max undid both exterior latches. She slipped her fingers under the gap and opened the trunk lid. It flew upward with sudden force, slamming against the wall. But Max didn't give a shit about being noisy.

She blinked, staring into what was in the trunk. Max didn't really see it at first. Her brain put a filter over it, made her think she was looking at something else. A bundle of clothes or an old carpet. But when Max actually _looked,_ actually broke past that filter, she realized what she was looking at.

No expensive equipment. No five-thousand dollar tripod or seven-thousand dollar camera. But there _was_ something in that trunk. Something that—at first glance—actually _did_ look like a bundle of old clothes or a carpet. Mainly because it looked way smaller than it actually was.

But Max looked closer. She saw skin, hair, shoes. This wasn't a carpet. It was a body. Someone had shoved a body into this trunk. Crudely folded, the legs bent and broken to fit into the space. Arms contorted at a weird angle, almost like the person had been hugging themselves. Max couldn't tell if the injuries were from getting stuffed into the trunk or if they'd been inflicted before death.

_Eliot._ Max pressed a hand over her nose and straightened up, backing away from the trunk. Her eyes filled with tears as she stared at the bent and broken body in the trunk. Why would someone do this? _Why?_ Why just take Eliot and stash him in some creepy underground bunker?

“I'm sorry,” said Max. “I'm so sorry.”

Yet another person who'd come into Chloe's life, someone she'd at least somewhat cared about. Gone. Dead. Stashed away like a filthy secret. And once again, Nathan Prescott was the mastermind behind Chloe's pain.

Max forced herself to look again. Maybe she was being too morbid, but she wanted to get a sense of how Eliot had died. She wanted some kind of closure, at least for Chloe's sake. Because Max knew Chloe would ask.

She heard Dana talking behind her, saying something that sounded like “next pot”. Max wasn't listening. She was isolating herself, getting a sense of what she was seeing and parsing out her own reaction. Dana was secondary, at least until Max fully processed this.

Max started to make out some details. Green sweater and a pair of jeans. Slightly messy light brown hair. Dress shoes. Max forced herself to keep looking, to get a better picture so she could make sure.

Max's blood ran cold. This wasn't happening. There was no way in hell she was seeing this. No fucking way. But it was _right there._ Stuffed into that trunk, compacted like a rag doll. Almost the same way Warren had been stuffed into that locker.

This wasn't Eliot. The body stuffed into the trunk was Nathan Prescott.


	16. Caged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the somewhat inconsistent uploads. Dealing with some personal stuff. But hopefully I'll be back on track starting next week. Thanks for all the support! I really appreciate it.

**Kate**

Kate checked the kitchen first. It was probably the most innocuous room in the house.

She swept the flashlight—well, phone light—back and forth. Counters, cabinets, bar stools. It wasn't so much a room as it was an “area”. Kind of folded into the main area without actually being a part of it.

Kate sighed. Okay, so the phone light was a way worse source of light than she'd expected. She could barely see a foot in front of her. If Kate wanted to do some serious searching, she was crap out of luck.

She moved forward, heading in the vague direction of the counter. Maybe there was a first aid kit under the kitchen sink? Or—and this was a long shot—some kind of emergency communication device? There had to be more than that basically unreachable fire station.

Kate dropped down a little, feeling her way across the floor and over to the cabinets under the counter. She yanked one open and started feeling around inside. Bottles of cleaning fluid, some cleaning supplies. Nothing helpful. Definitely no first aid kit.

She went to the next cabinet, awkwardly trying to aim the light. This one wasn't fully closed. It seemed like someone else had been rooting around in there. Nathan? Or maybe Victoria?

She grabbed something out of the cabinet. A box of some kind. Small, but it felt heavy. Not heavy like a first aid kit. Kate could have tossed it aside, but she was curious. And despite being mad at herself for snooping, she just had to find out what the Prescotts were hiding.

Kate flipped the box open. She was expecting top secret documents, maybe a key or some drugs. Blackmail material. Not that Kate needed any reason to blackmail the Prescotts. She was pretty sure that was a sin. And even if it wasn't, no freaking way.

But apparently the Prescotts' secret stash was.. _.flares?_ Yep, those were flares. Flares and a flare gun tucked away in a small box. Helpful in most situations, but not this one.

Kate pulled the flare gun out of the box. She could barely see, but the thing didn't look used. Not that she had any idea what a used flare gun looked like, but it just _felt_ new. And the more Kate touched it, the more she wondered if she should keep it. Flares were basically Survival 101, right? The must-have tool for every well-trained survivalist? Or in this case, a teenage girl trying to make it out of this place alive.

Kate smiled to herself. Back when she was a kid, her dad told her never to shoot into the sky. When she asked why, he explained that she might hit God. It took Kate a while to figure out that her dad didn't literally think she might nail God in the eye with a slingshot or something.

If Kate had been a naive seven-year-old, she might have been worried about accidentally hitting God with a flare. But Kate knew better. She knew that even if she pointed up, there was no way that big man in the sky would get hurt.

She took the whole box—flare gun and flares—for safe-keeping. When the time came, Kate might have to start shooting into the sky.

She continued searching the kitchen. Kate pulled open a bunch of cabinets, looking for something she could use to patch up Frank. Or at the very least, something to eat. Kate was kind of amazed at herself. She'd done all that running around and self-defense on an empty stomach. But now the hunger was really hitting her. Frank must have been in even worse shape.

Kate almost grabbed a box of crackers from a cabinet, but she stopped herself. Nathan's face came bubbling to the top of her thoughts. Kate couldn't trust anything in this nightmare of a house. Hunger was another thing Nathan would have accounted for, another basic human weakness he could exploit.

Was Kate being too paranoid? Was she giving Nathan too much credit? More importantly, was Kate willing to take such a big chance? Kate had never seen a horror movie, but she wasn't a dumbass. She knew the basics of surviving a psycho murderer.

Kate shut the cabinet. _Maybe later._

* * *

 

**Max**

Max was sitting on that expensive white couch, hands over her face. She felt like the entire world was spinning.

Dana was hunched over in a corner, puking all over the floor. Max couldn't tell if it was the alcohol or the dead body. Probably both. Booze and a corpse definitely wasn't a winning combo.

And Max couldn't forget the fact that Dana and Nathan had been _friends._ Well, kind of. They'd been close. And despite the horrible circumstances, Dana didn't deserve to see Nathan like that. No one who knew and gave a shit about Nathan Prescott should have had to see that.

It was strange how actually seeing Nathan's dead body put so much into perspective. Max didn't feel relieved or ecstatic or whatever to know that Nathan Prescott was dead. She just felt confused and scared. And a part of her—a really small part—felt the tiniest bit bad for Nathan. Sure, he was the ultimate shitty human being. But maybe if he'd gotten help, if his dad wasn't such an enabling piece of garbage... _Ugh._ Max just didn't know anymore.

Max finally got up. She was unsteady on her feet, like she was the one who'd inhaled all that strong booze. She'd been trying not to think about what Nathan's death meant. She didn't want to consider how Victoria was going to feel or even how Max herself felt. Max didn't want to ask herself about how Chloe would respond.

But the playing field had changed and Max wasn't ready. Because there was one question pounding in her skull: _who killed Nathan Prescott?_

Max sprinted across the room. She knelt down and grabbed Dana by the shoulders, pulling her to her feet. Max felt like she was in one of those disaster movies. Except instead of a tornado or a hurricane, it was her own sense of impending doom. When Max spoke, her voice was shaking like a leaf in a storm.

“We're getting the fuck out of here,” said Max.

She couldn't quite muster the domineering tone she needed. She sounded more like a little kid fleeing from a bully on the playground. Max had been bullied a lot when she was a kid. But she'd always had Chloe there to protect her. And in return, Max tried—but ultimately failed—to be the force of lawful good that Chloe desperately needed in her life.

Dana nodded. Her eyes were filled with tears and streaks of make-up were running down her cheeks. She looked like the poster girl for anguish.

If the situation hadn't been one hundred percent messed up, Max would have snapped a picture. She would have titled it something like “Portrait of Loss” or some other quirky bullshit. _Ugh._ Max wondered if she'd always been this pretentious or if Seattle had ruined her.

As they headed to the stairs, Max could feel her stomach knotting. She didn't actually want to leave the bunker. She wanted to stay down there until help arrived. Lock herself away until she knew the house was safe.

But for Chloe's sake, Max had to be brave. Chloe had always protected her. Well, now Max could finally return the favor.

They reached the top of the stairs, Max leading the way. Without a word or a glance, the two girls emerged back into the house. It had been too long. It was weird to be back on what felt like unfamiliar ground.

Max frowned. It definitely hadn't been _this_ dark when they'd first gone down there. The shift from blinding spotlights to pitch blackness caught Max completely off guard. It seemed the power had gone out in the house. _Shit._

“Do you have a...?” said Dana.

But Max was already whipping out her phone and turning on the flashlight. If she had to guess, the bunker had some kind of alternate supply pumping power into it. Something off the main grid, just in case the house itself lost power. Or something like that. Max had no idea how bunkers worked.

So who knocked out the power? Nathan or....?

Max's stomach clenched. _Right._ Nathan was dead. He'd been dead for quite some time. Maybe even before Max stepped foot in that house. Maybe Nathan was dead all along and Victoria had been lying through her teeth. Now that Max knew the truth, everything felt like a lie. Who could she actually trust?

_Chloe._ Max could trust Chloe. _Always._

She grabbed Dana's wrist and headed out of the study. If everything was ever going to be okay, she _had_ to be the best friend Chloe wanted her to be. And that started with having a long talk about what their friendship even meant anymore. And before they could do any of that, they needed to get the hell out of this house.

Getting out of the house had always been their goal. But Max felt the need to reiterate it to herself every time something big happened.

Max shut the study door behind her. Back in the living room. Back where it all started. The first time she saw Chloe, the first time Max got a glimpse of how Chloe had coped in her absence. Max wasn't ashamed to admit that her heart had broken a little. Just a little. Although Chloe looked smoking hot with that blue hair.

Dana suddenly cried out, grabbing the back of Max's hoodie.

The phone slipped from Max's hand, the room plunging into near-complete darkness as the light was smothered by the floorboards. Muttering a string of profanities, Max dropped to her knees and started feeling around for her phone. _Fuck._ If it was broken, they were screwed. One hundred percent screwed.

“Geez, Dana,” said Max.

She was so focused on getting the light back that she didn't stop to wonder what had startled Dana. But when she finally found her phone again—the screen mercifully intact despite the tumble—Max realized something was seriously wrong.

Dana grabbed Max's shoulders. She was trembling. And when Max finally got her light back, she instantly figured out why. Dana had seen something. Something that wasn't supposed to be there. Something the light had illuminated for the briefest of seconds before Max dropped it.

There was a man sitting on the couch. Dana had only gotten a tiny glimpse of him before Max dropped the light, but now they could both see him clearly. It wasn't Eliot. No, this guy was definitely not a student at Blackwell. Way too old, plus he looked pretty haggard in the light.

“Who is that?” Dana whispered.

She let out a little squeak as the man turned his head to look at them. They both thought he was asleep, but apparently he was wide awake. Wide awake and listening to these two girls talk about him like he wasn't there.

“I can hear you,” said the man. “Put that fucking light out. Or at least aim it somewhere else. Jesus Christ.”

Dana narrowed her eyes.

“Aren't you that creepy guy with the RV?” she said. “The drug guy?”

Max moved slightly closer, aiming the light away from the guy's face. She'd seen that RV a dozen times. In the Blackwell parking lot, outside the Two Whales diner. The thing gave her a bad vibe. Max was smart enough to steer clear, even though she really wanted to say something about that guy's filthy windows.

The man snorted.

“I do other things,” he said. “But yeah, sure. I'm “the drug guy”.”

Dana wrapped her arms around herself.

“You're the one Nathan got his “party supplies” from, aren't you?” she said. “Frank Bowers?”

Max tensed. She'd _definitely_ heard that name before. Maybe recently? Maybe from Chloe? She remembered it being tossed around in the hallways at Blackwell. But Max tried not to eavesdrop when she could help it. The less she knew about all the illicit fun going down at Blackwell, the better. At least the principal couldn't haul Max into his office for questioning.

“The very same,” said the man.

Max grabbed Dana's arm. So _that_ was where Nathan got all those fancy drugs. The ones he probably used on those poor people he killed. Frank was a part of this messed up shit. Maybe not on purpose, but he was definitely involved. And there was no way Frank was blissfully ignorant about the drugs he was peddling.

Apparently a lot braver than Max, it was Dana who spoke up.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she said.

Frank shifted in his seat. The sudden slight movement made Max flinch, but he wasn't pulling out a knife or anything like that. The more Max looked at him in the light, the more beat up he looked. Not just old, but worn out and a little crippled. Max had been worried about him getting up, but now she noticed his messed up leg. There was no way he was getting off the couch with that thing.

“Getting fucking shafted by a Prescott,” said Frank. “No surprises there. Little shit invites me up here saying he has my money. Of course I want the cash. _Need_ the cash. And of course he fucking double-crosses me. Can't trust you punks.”

Max's guard was still up. Maybe Frank couldn't move, but she doubted he'd come unarmed. Any meeting with a Prescott demanded some kind of firearm or sharp implement within reach. So Max was keeping her distance, even though that couch looked _very_ inviting.

“Do you know where he is?” said Max.

Frank squinted at her.

“Prescott?” he said. “Haven't seen him. Only one I've seen besides you two is that girl. Kate Mart or something.”

Max let go of Dana's arm, her heart beating against her chest. It felt like years since she'd heard that name. All the messed up shit happening around the estate had almost drowned it out. But here it was again, roaring into Max's head like a freight train.

“Kate?” said Max. “You saw Kate? What did you do to her? Where is she?”

Frank folded his arms.

“Calm down, girlie,” he said.

Max took a step towards him. She was still terrified, but she was more scared for Kate than herself. Out of everyone there, Kate Marsh didn't deserve to get dragged into this bullshit. In fact, no one at Blackwell deserved this. Even the assholes who treated Max like crap for no reason didn't deserve a night like this. Every single one of them—even Victoria—deserved the chance to graduate and be happy.

“If you hurt her, I'll...,” started Max.

She never got to finish her weak threat. Max could feel her eyes burning as she spoke. Tears of frustration. This was all her fault, wasn't it? Kate probably wouldn't have come if she hadn't known Max and Warren were going. And Warren definitely would have spent winter break at home if Max hadn't decided she wanted to check out a Prescott party. Whatever happened to them was entirely on Max and she knew it.

Max's pity party was interrupted by a massive sense of deja vu. One minute she was talking, another minute she was listening to the front door open. Someone was coming in. Someone was alive. _Stella? Daniel?_ Could one of them actually be alive?

But it wasn't either of them. For a split second, Max hoped. She wanted them to be alive. Wanted to know that at least one of her friends she presumed dead was okay. She wanted this night to be a little less of a nightmare.

Eliot Hampden—wearing a huge winter coat and thick pants—walked into the living room.

* * *

 

**Chloe**

As is turned out, the house was even more of a maze in the dark.

She had no fucking clue how her and Victoria got turned around. But she was sure it had something to do with Victoria mentioning a shortcut or a passageway or something. Chloe had no idea. Victoria just opened her mouth and Chloe immediately tuned out. Unfortunately, Victoria had one huge advantage: she was holding the light.

“I know where I'm going,” said Victoria.

Chloe raised an eyebrow, her arms folded as she trailed behind Victoria. She'd been staring at the back of Victoria's head for way too long. She was really starting to detest that perfectly cut hair. It looked so preppy _._ Like Eliot, but a thousand times more pretentious. And Chloe hella despised using that word—preppy—because it sounded so fucking _high school._

“Didn't say a word, Vic,” said Chloe.

Victoria snorted, but Chloe was right. Chloe hadn't opened her mouth in at least five minutes. But Victoria had been talking to herself for a while and it was starting to grate on Chloe's nerves.

Chloe had one priority and one priority only: _Find Max._ But she couldn't just charge off into the darkness. Chloe wasn't a dumbass. She knew how characters in horror movies died. And Chloe couldn't tell Max how much of an idiot she was if either of them got killed by Nathan. What was that thing Max always said? Something about safety first?

“I meant to ask,” said Chloe. “What's a bright young thing like you still doing at Blackwell?”

Victoria swung the light around, illuminating a bunch of paintings and closed doors.

“ _Some_ people have talent,” she said. “We can't all be drop-outs, Price.”

Chloe frowned. Okay, that stung. She didn't regret getting kicked out of a shithole like Blackwell, but she knew exactly what Joyce and David thought of her. And yeah, maybe Chloe needed to somehow get her life on track. But that started with getting the hell out of Arcadia Bay, not with Blackwell.

“Yeah, _you_ have talent,” said Chloe. “Why are you sucking Vortex Club dick at Blackwell instead of actually _using_ it? You're better than that place. We all are.”

Victoria seemed surprised by the genuine compliment. Chloe wasn't bullshitting her. Victoria might have been a pain in the ass, but she _was_ a good photographer. Almost as good as Max. Even her selfies were hella artistic. And the fact that she was wasting her creative genius at Blackwell made Chloe feel sorry for her.

“Where else would I go?” said Victoria. “We can't all just live with our parents and smoke weed all day.”

She slowed down a little. She hadn't exactly been jogging or anything. But she'd been making an effort to put distance between herself and Chloe. Now she was letting Chloe fully catch up for the first time in a few minutes.

“And Blackwell has Mark Jefferson,” said Victoria.

Chloe snorted. Second time she'd heard that guy's name. Of course a hotshot like that had panties being thrown at him. Chloe would have envied him, but there was only one girl Chloe actually cared about.

“Seriously?” said Chloe. “First Max, now you? What girl doesn't want to hop on this guy's dick?”

Victoria laughed.

“I don't expect you to understand,” she said. “Mark Jefferson is a _genius._ He's one of the best photographers ever. And he chose _Blackwell._ He chose _us_ over some fancy art school.”

Chloe threw up her hands.

“Whoop-dee-fucking-doo,” she said. “That's no reason to have such a hard-on for the guy. So he takes pictures. Who the fuck cares? I bet Max could out-photo him any day.”

Victoria whirled around, shining the light directly in Chloe's face.

Muttering _“shit”,_ Chloe covered her eyes. She turned her head away, blinking rapidly to get the spots out of her eyes.

“Look, I don't know what kind of weird lesbo shit you've got going on with Max,” said Victoria. “And frankly, I don't care. But just because you “escaped” Blackwell doesn't mean you get to talk down to me or anyone else. Get over yourself.”

Chloe grabbed Victoria's wrist, forcing her to aim the light away from her. If she was being honest, Chloe didn't want to fight. But the anger felt good. It was raw, it was warm, and it was familiar. It made her forget Nathan and Rachel and all the shit that had gone wrong in her life.

“Get _over myself?”_ said Chloe. “You think you're better than everyone, Victoria. Victoria Chase, the girl who talks shit about everyone else because she's so insecure in her own fucking talent. Been there, done that. Except I actually stopped that shit when I was a teen.”

Chloe plucked the phone out of Victoria's hand. Victoria didn't even try to stop her, even as Victoria's voice rose in anger.

“You think my life is easy?” said Victoria. “You think I don't get rejected? You think I don't just sit alone, curled up and crying in a room filled with thousands of dollars worth of fancy equipment? You think I don't fucking hate myself for not being good enough? My parents raised me on truth, Price. And even with their help, I'm still not good enough.”

Chloe didn't say anything. She thought her anger would reach the boiling point, that she would have some kind of biting comeback. But Chloe didn't have a clever rebuttal or one of her classic shutdowns. She wasn't even mad anymore. She just felt kind of _empty._ Emptier than Victoria must have felt.

Victoria wasn't crying. She looked serene and put together, like an oil painting. She was the polar opposite of Chloe in so many ways. Where Chloe was unkempt, Victoria was visibly flawless. Where Chloe lacked that subtle artistic beauty, Victoria had all the right stuff to make the dude-bros and ladies at Blackwell go wild.

Blackwell wasn't for people like Chloe. It was for the Victorias and Mark Jeffersons of the world. It was for preps—Chloe still hated that word—like Eliot and jocks like Logan. Maybe that's why Chloe stopped fighting the inevitable a long time ago.

Chloe gently grabbed Victoria's wrist. Victoria flinched at her touch, but she didn't say anything.

“I think I know how to get back,” said Chloe.

She was unsurprised when Victoria didn't protest. Victoria let herself be led out of the hallway and towards yet another flight of stairs.

This time Chloe knew where they were going. She knew how to get back to the living room. She knew how to find Max.

* * *

 

**Max**

Max was trapped between _Holy shit, he's alive_ and _What the hell is going on?_

Rationally, she knew the body in the bunker wasn't Eliot. But a part of her still thought he was dead. Or at the very least, she didn't expect him to just show up like that. And as a bonus, seeing him without Chloe was a little disorienting.

“Are you guys okay?” said Eliot.

Hearing him speak was even more disorienting. This wasn't a dream. Eliot was real and he was alive. _Holy crap._

It was Dana who asked the question.

“Where have you been this whole time?” she said.

Eliot calmly unzipped his jacket, even though it was still bitterly cold in the house. No fire in the fireplace and the interior heating seemed to be busted along with the lights. The house must have looked dead from the outside.

“Outside,” said Eliot.

Before Max or Dana could ask, Eliot pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the couch. Max could barely see his face in the dark living room. From what little she could make out, Max noticed he looked troubled. Maybe a little scared.

“I thought I saw someone out there and...,” Elliot started.

He stopped, like he'd suddenly realized that everything was kind of messed up.

“What happened to the lights?” said Eliot. “And where's Chloe?”

At Chloe's name, Eliot's voice rose slightly in panic. Of course she was his top concern. Max had heard that panic in her own voice countless times throughout the night, mostly in conjunction with Chloe's name. Hearing someone else care so much about Chloe was strange.

“You saw someone?” said Dana. “Who?”

Eliot didn't answer. He was frantically digging a flashlight out of his pocket. One of those little pen-lights for reading. The beam wasn't very strong, but it was enough. When Eliot flipped it on, it was able to cut through the darkness. He swung it back and forth, like he expected to find Chloe hiding in a corner or something. Eliot didn't seem to notice Frank.

“Where's Chloe?” he said again.

Max couldn't believe the next words out of her mouth, but she had to say them.

“Forget Chloe,” she said. “Who did you see out there?”

It shouldn't have mattered. It could have been Daniel or Stella. Or more likely, no one at all. But Max had realized something. She realized it back when she found Nathan's body. The fact that she still felt watched, that nagging sense of dread.

There was someone else wandering around the property. Someone who wanted them all dead. Someone none of them had seen yet.

And Max had a pretty good idea of how Nathan operated. She _knew_ him, or at least could get inside his head. But this new adversary was someone entirely new, someone Max couldn't predict.

Eliot still wasn't answering Max's question. He was darting around the living room and calling Chloe's name.

Max stared in the general direction of the front door. She expected it to burst open at any minute. Whoever was out there, they must have knocked out the generator. They knew everyone was in there. They knew that everyone was alive. And they knew how to get around the house without being seen.

The Prescott mountain estate was massive. So why did Max feel like a rat in a box?


	17. Pirates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to a regular weekly posting schedule (probably). Again, thanks for all the support. I'm blown away by the fact that all you have stuck around this long. Thank you for all the kind words and patience.

**Max**

Eliot was sitting on the couch, hands over his face. His shoulders were shaking, but he wasn't crying. He looked like he wanted to be freaking out, but he wasn't quite there yet.

“Shit, shit, shit, _shit,”_ said Eliot.

Max put a hand on Eliot's shoulder. She hadn't really figured him out yet, but there'd be plenty of time for that later. At the moment, all Max needed to know was that Eliot cared about Chloe as much as she did. And since Chloe kind of sucked at making friends, that was a pretty significant accomplishment.

“She's fine,” said Max.

Eliot raised his head. Still no tears, but he looked completely shaken up. _Geez._ Was this really all it took to break Eliot? Not that Max was in any position to judge.

“I know,” said Eliot. “I just care, okay? I care a lot. I promised nothing would happen to her. She made me promise.”

That didn't sound like Chloe, but Max let it go. Whatever Chloe had said to Eliot at some point in time, it had clearly gotten to him. Max wondered if this was a Warren situation or if there was something else there.

“Uh, how do you and Chloe know each other again?” said Max.

She tried to sound like she was making conversation, but there was an edge in her voice. Even Dana and Frank must have detected it.

Eliot shrugged. He didn't seem to be picking up the vibe Max was sending out.

“We hooked up,” said Eliot. “You know how it is.”

Max frowned. No, she didn't know how it was. How could she? She'd been all the way in Seattle. Max almost felt like Eliot was mocking her, but of course he wasn't.

“She talked about you a lot,” said Eliot.

He didn't sound resentful or surprised. Just curious.

Max nervously rubbed her arm and blushed. It kind of warmed her heart to know that Chloe had been thinking about her. But she knew it didn't make up for those years of neglect. It was yet another reason Max should have stopped being such a fucking coward.

“Bad stuff, I bet,” said Max.

Dana spoke up. She was still standing next to Max, arms folded. There was plenty of room next to Frank, but she refused to share the space with him. Max couldn't blame her. They were probably the weirdest and most ill-fated team in history. A bunch of high school kids and a drug dealer.

“So about our grand escape plan,” she said.

She gestured towards the hallway leading to the front door.

“The storm's starting to let up,” she said. “We bundle up, we grab whatever we can carry, and we just bail. Wait for help or for the weather to clear up or whatever.”

Max started to say something, but Eliot jumped in first.

“She's right,” said Eliot. “This house is a death trap. At least no one can pick us off if we're outside.”

Dana was already making her way towards the front door.

“The fire tower,” she said. “Or fire station. Whatever. Where Daniel and Stella were going. If we can make it there, _maybe_ we'll have some kind of chance.”

She stopped and spun around. No one could see her expression in the darkness, but Max imagined she looked pretty fierce.

“But we have to stick together,” said Dana. “We find Kate, we find Chloe and Victoria, then we leave _together._ Whatever we do next, we're shoulder to shoulder.”

Max just stared. _Holy shit._ No wonder Dana was a cheerleader. And no wonder the Vortex Club poached her. Dana represented everything Blackwell should have stood for. None of this bullshit elitism.

“But we have no idea where Chloe and Victoria are,” said Eliot.

Frank suddenly laughed. He hadn't spoken or made a sound for almost a solid ten minutes.

“You dumbass kids think sticking together is gonna save you?” said Frank. “Didn't do your friends any good.”

Frank leaned forward. He groaned, like even that slight movement was difficult for him. Max felt a flash of sympathy for the guy. Max had never had a major injury, but she _did_ know what it was like to be in pain.

“I've met sickos,” said Frank. “Worked with them. And no, I'm not proud of the messed up shit I've seen. Turned a blind eye more times than I'd like to admit. But I know how creeps like this operate.”

He raised a finger.

“You get one,” he said. “One chance to get away. And if you make it, good for you. But if you fuck up? You're dead. These guys plan. They wait. And they always get what they want.”

Max shuddered. On any other day, there was no way she'd be taking advice from scary losers like Frank. But he had a point. Max had read enough true crime stories to recognize the M.O. This wasn't a Prescott. This was a skilled killer who was used to covering their bases.

“Max will think of something,” said Dana. “She's the smart one.”

Max started to object, but then it hit her. _Oh fuck._ She _was_ The Smart One. With Warren and Stella out of the picture, Max was technically the smartest person in the room. And that meant everyone expected her to pull off some ingenious plan.

Frank snorted like he didn't buy that. Max was glad at least one person wasn't waiting for her to be brilliant.

“But we're waiting for Chloe,” said Eliot. “I need to know she's okay before we do anything. And she'll want to know I'm okay.”

Max bristled. Was Eliot _trying_ to piss her off? No, he couldn't be doing this on purpose. It was like he was trying to jab all her weak points.

“And me,” said Max. “I'm her best friend.”

She felt like a bratty kid laying claim to a toy, but she had to say it.

Eliot snorted.

“Her best friend?” he said. “Yeah, the best friend who left her alone for all those years. Her best friend who forced her into the arms of _Rachel Amber._ Yeah, “friend”.”

Max folded her arms, staring at Eliot in shock. She knew he was just blowing off steam, but this was too much. First Chloe was being hyper-critical of everything Max had done wrong, now this random dickhead was laying into her? _What the fuck?_ Was everyone going to just blow up at her for being a shitty friend? Couldn't they let it go?

“What's your problem?” said Max.

Eliot looked more than ready to tell her, but he didn't get the chance.

Victoria appeared from the second floor, holding her phone above her head. Chloe was right behind her, clinging to Victoria's shoulders.

Max's eyes filled with grateful tears. She'd never considered herself the type of person to cry easily, but Chloe just brought it out of her. It was almost like magic. Dumb scary sad magic. But wasn't that basically the crux of her and Chloe's relationship at that point?

Victoria lowered the phone.

“Oh shit, you're here,” she said.

She obviously hadn't expected to find the living room so crowded. It was almost exactly the same way it had been when they first arrived, except a lot darker.

“Max?” said Chloe.

She sounded like she was about to start sobbing with relief. Any anger between them had completely evaporated. Maybe that time apart was good for them. It gave them time to reflect on the concept of forgiveness.

Eliot immediately got to his feet. He spread his arms, a big grin on his face at the sight of Chloe.

But Chloe charged right past him. She probably didn't even notice he was there. Pretty much everyone else had faded out of existence for Max and Chloe. It was all about the two of them. No Eliot, no Dana, no Frank. Just Max Caulfield and Chloe Price.

Chloe wrapped Max up in a massive hug. For once, Max didn't mind Chloe squeezing the life out of her. Chloe had always been an aggressive hugger. It was only now that Max fully appreciated how warm and intense Chloe's hugs were. Max's only gripe was that she just wasn't strong enough to match Chloe's intensity.

“Chloe, I'm sorry,” said Max. “Everything is my fault. All of this is just... I love you, Chloe. _I love you._ Never forget that. Promise me you'll never....”

Chloe laughed.

“I know you love me, you dork,” she said. “You only said it a billion times.”

She loosened her grip a little, reaching up to gently touch Max's hair. Max almost collapsed. Chloe's touch was so tender and loving and real and... _god._ It was everything Max needed and Chloe _knew._

“And I never thought you didn't love me,” Chloe whispered. “Promise.”

Max withdrew from the hug, wiping tears from her eyes.

“I know,” said Max. “I just... I'm so happy you said it. You have no idea.”

Dana cleared her throat.

Max and Chloe jumped away from each other, like they'd been caught doing something gross. Max was surprised—and kind of flattered—when she noticed how much Chloe was blushing. Max realized she was kind of a pro at getting Chloe flustered.

Max chewed her bottom lip. _Oh right._ She totally forgot there were other people in the room. Not that she had any reason to be embarrassed about hugging Chloe. But this felt so, well, _different._ Intense. Weird. And Max wasn't sure how to talk about it without sounding like a creep.

“Uh, Chloe,” said Eliot.

Chloe nervously rubbed the back of her neck, smiling sheepishly. _Holy crap._ Chloe was so fucking adorable and she didn't even know it. If they hadn't been in mortal danger, Max would have started teasing her.

“Hey Eliot,” said Chloe. “Glad you're okay.”

Max didn't need to see Eliot's face to figure out exactly what he was thinking. She could practically hear him deflate at Chloe's words. Definitely not the enthusiastic greeting he'd been expecting. Max felt sorry for him. Chloe was three hundred degrees of awesome, but Eliot was clearly a little too white bread for her.

_So am I,_ Max realized.

She clutched the front of her shirt, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious. _Shit._

Sensing Max was slipping into a bad place, Chloe wrapped her arm around Max's shoulders and pulled her close. Chloe's warmth settled Max's thoughts a little. This wasn't the best time for another teenage freak-out. Max could deal with her self-esteem problems later.

“So no Kate?” said Dana.

Victoria folded her arms.

“What do you think, genius?” she said.

Max's heart plummeted. _Crap._ Kate was the missing piece. The fact that Eliot had come back and Kate was still missing made Max _very_ uncomfortable.

Chloe tightened her grip on Max's shoulders.

“We have to tell you guys something,” she said. “Something bad. Hella bad.”

With a dozen stops and starts, Chloe told them everything. Everything they'd found, everything they knew. And with even more stops and starts, everyone else chimed in with their portions of the story. It was all a muddled mess of facts and confusing events that barely seemed to intersect. But once it was out in the open, Max had a much clearer picture.

“This is bad,” said Dana.

Understatement of the decade. So many of them had encountered this creep, yet none of them had seen this person's face. This person was crafty. And above all else, this person didn't want to be seen. They had a whole thing going on: killing Nathan, stashing his body in the bunker, keeping the hoax alive. Because who _wasn't_ going to suspect a psychotic spoiled rich brat?

Victoria was standing off to the side and holding herself. She hadn't visibly reacted when Max talked about finding Nathan's body. But now Victoria was turned away from everyone else. She was just standing there, refusing to contribute to the conversation.

“Are there any, like, flares or something?” said Chloe.

Max raised her eyebrows.

“Um, flares?” she said.

Chloe aimed a pair of half-hearted finger guns at the ceiling.

“You know, flares,” she said. “For emergencies. Those could work, right? I mean, someone has to see them.”

That sounded dumb, but Max didn't want to just shut down Chloe's idea. It wasn't _entirely_ horrible. There were just some important logistics Chloe was neglecting. Knowing Chloe, this was probably just an excuse for Chloe to get her hands on another weapon.

“Okay, flares,” said Max. “Has anyone seen flares or a flare gun or anything?”

Victoria finally spoke. Her voice was soft, just one or two points above a whisper. But her tone still carried that familiar snideness, like she was just waiting to say something bitchy. It was like someone had filtered Victoria Chase's attitude through a block of ice.

“Kitchen,” she said. “Cabinet under the counter.”

Max grabbed Chloe's shoulders. She knew Chloe wasn't a sadist. Even Chloe knew when someone was grieving and therefore less receptive to snarky comments. But Max also knew Chloe wasn't exactly Nathan Prescott's biggest fan. Given all the conflicting emotions in her own head, Max didn't want to risk starting something.

“We''ll grab them,” said Max.

Chloe was staring at Victoria's back, probably on the verge of saying something. At Max's words, she immediately tore her eyes off Victoria.

“Whatever you say, Mad Max,” said Chloe.

Max wanted to pull Victoria aside and say something to her. But Max couldn't even begin to imagine what that would be.

* * *

 

**Chloe**

Leaving everyone else was probably a hella dumb idea, but of course Chloe just rolled with it. It was _Max._ Couldn't say _no_ to that adorable face. And besides, it was just the kitchen.

So Chloe let Max drag her by the wrist. It was funny how Max kind of put herself in the lead. Young Max had always been such a chickenshit. So easy to boss around. Chloe liked this new Max. Getting led around like this was sort of sexy.

Chloe smirked. Maybe being trapped in a murder house wasn't so bad. It was all about having a good partner in crime. And Max was definitely the best.

Max stopped and turned around, aiming the light in the vicinity of Chloe's chest.

“What's with the grin?” she said.

Chloe clasped her hands behind her back, her smirk widening.

“Alone time,” said Chloe.

Max rolled her eyes, whirling around to face the counter. She probably thought Chloe didn't notice her blushing. Well, she thought wrong. Nothing escaped Chloe Price's watchful eye.

“Shut up and help me,” said Max.

She passed Chloe the light so she could start looking through the cabinets. Since Victoria specified under the counter, Max started there.

Chloe's heart pounded. Alone time with Max. _Again._ And unlike the last few times, Chloe didn't know what Max wanted her to say. They'd pretty much covered everything, right? Abandonment, betrayal, forgiveness, healing. All the bases.

“I used, to, uh, call Eliot,” said Chloe. “In the middle of the night. I told him stories about you. About all the, um, crazy adventures we went on.”

Max didn't reply. She was on her knees, feeling around in the cabinet.

“It wasn't...it wasn't all bad,” said Chloe. “I wasn't _always_ mad at you.”

That was only twenty-percent a lie. Most of the time, Chloe was just hella pissed at everyone and everything. And of course that included Max Caulfield, Asshole Supreme. But sometimes, late at night, when Chloe was one hundred percent stoned and one hundred percent alone with her thoughts? Sometimes Chloe thought about her childhood and it didn't immediately send her into a spiral of resentment. Those were the best times.

“Good to hear,” said Max.

She straightened up.

“No flares,” said Max.

Chloe tried to look disappointed, but she didn't really care about flares. Flares weren't going to rescue them from this nightmare. Flares weren't going to stop whoever was hunting them. Flares weren't going to do shit.

Chloe grinned. _Wow._ They were really going to die there, weren't they? All of them. And it wasn't even fair. A month ago, Chloe would have been totally okay with that. She'd been prepared to go out in a blaze of glory. But now that she'd met up with Max again? Chloe was starting to realize that dying wasn't all it was cracked up to be. There was so much she wanted to do.

“Hey Max,” said Chloe. “If we don't get out of this...”

Max immediately started to shake her head.

“We are totally getting out of...,” she started.

But Chloe wasn't having it. She grabbed Max by the shoulders, cutting her off mid-sentence. Chloe had been waiting _years_ to say this. She'd memorized at least a dozen different things she wanted to say to Max's face.

“Max, you're not Rachel,” said Chloe. “And that's okay. I don't need you to be Rachel. I just need you to be there for me. I need you to be my best friend.”

Chloe let go of Max's shoulders and stepped closer.

“And if we don't get out of this,” she said. “If that fucker whose after us takes me out...”

Chloe wrapped her arms around Max. It was maybe their fifth or sixth hug that night. But it never got old.

“Promise me you'll become the best photographer the world has ever seen,” she said. “Promise me, Caulfield.”

Max returned the hug, burying her face in Chloe's chest and inhaling deeply.

“Of course,” she said. “Right after I avenge you. _Point Blank_ style.”

Chloe's heart leaped. _Shit._ That was one of the movies her and Max watched a hundred years ago. Max wasn't particularly into it—not really her style—but Chloe went nuts over it. It seemed crazy that Chloe hadn't watched that movie at least twice. But then again, what was even the point if Max wasn't there to complain about plot holes?

“And I'll totally avenge you,” said Chloe. “ _Oldboy_ style.”

She knew Max hadn't seen that one. But if they somehow managed to survive this nightmarish vacation, Chloe had a whole list of movies she was going to introduce Max to. Max had once forced Chloe to watch the entire _Lord of the Rings_ trilogy with her. Chloe looked forward to returning the favor.

They both withdrew from the hug. Max's face was flushed.

“Or we could just not die,” said Max.

Chloe smirked.

“Sounds good to me,” said Chloe.

She took Max's hand. Now she _did_ feel bad about the flares. Chloe really wanted to see Max's face light up. She wanted to see Max smile and come up with some kind of amazing plan.

But Chloe wasn't giving up. She wanted to survive. She wanted her and Max to have some kind of future.

* * *

 

**Victoria**

Victoria plopped down on the couch with Frank. He wasn't exactly the kind of person she wanted to be near, but screw it. Victoria just needed a place to sit down and get her thoughts in order.

Nathan. _Dead._ Unless Max was lying. And why would sweet little Max Caulfield lie? So Victoria had to face the fact that Nathan was...

Victoria pressed her hand against her forehead and groaned. _Fuck. Shit. Fuck._ What was it she'd said to Nathan's dad a billion years ago? Something about “keeping Nathan out of trouble”? And what had she said to Nathan about twenty minutes later on the very same day? Something about how she was his best friend?

Victoria felt like curling up into a ball and just sobbing her eyes out. _Friend?_ Some _friend_ she'd been to Nathan. And she'd _tried._ Tried until it felt like she was screaming at a wall. Victoria almost shredded her lungs shouting at the brick wall that was Nathan Prescott's brain. Trying to convince him that he needed help. And then appealing to Nathan's dad with the same suggestion, but of course Sean Prescott didn't give a fucking _damn_ about his son.

She was the only one. The only person at Blackwell who cared about Nathan. And even she couldn't help him. So what was the point? Why even think about the fact that he was dead, unless she was blaming herself?

Victoria stood up. She needed a drink. Something strong. Something that would cut right through her thoughts.

Abruptly, she remembered Hayden's dead body in the bar. She remembered that Hayden had died at Nathan's hands. Because why kid herself at this point? Nathan was a murderer. He'd probably murdered Kate. He'd definitely murdered Stella, Daniel, and Warren. And then he'd.. _what?_ Somehow stuffed himself into a trunk and offed himself?

Victoria sighed. All she knew was that Nathan was responsible for everything. _Everything._ She refused to place any blame on a mysterious second party, even if that made more sense. Because who would that even be? Who would Nathan Prescott have conspired with?

Victoria considered for a moment. Actually, she had a few ideas.

* * *

 

**Max**

Max handed Chloe a kitchen knife.

Chloe took the knife, a confused look on her face. It was a pretty standard knife, probably used for cutting steak or something. And as movies had taught Max, an excellent weapon. Better than being totally unarmed.

“So, we gonna stab this fucker?” said Chloe.

Max flinched. _Ugh._ The thought of it grossed her out. Just the idea of all that _blood._ And Max wasn't usually weird about blood. But tons of it? Buckets of it pouring from a knife wound? The concept was vomit-inducing.

“I hope not,” said Max. “But we probably won't have a choice.”

She started to take a knife for herself, but she decided against it. It was fine for Chloe. Chloe was cool with just about anything, or at least she was good at pretending to be. Max was way more of a coward. And given how the night was going, Max suspected that might end up getting her killed.

Chloe held the knife aloft.

“It's not a sword, but Pricebeard will make do,” said Chloe.

Max laughed.

“Seriously?” she said. “ _That's_ your pirate name? Pricebeard?”

Chloe pointed the knife at Max. She tried to look serious, but she was grinning like an idiot. Even though they were certified adults, Max really wanted to go on another pirate adventure. Maybe for Halloween?

“Silence, Long Max Silver,” said Chloe. “Lest I make ye walk the plank.”

Max smirked.

“I'd like to see you try,” she said.

Chloe was trying to hold the knife like a sword, but the effect was lost. She was probably really missing the cheap homemade sword she'd wielded back in the day. Max was missing it too, but for completely different reasons. Max always thought Chloe looked amazing in her pirate gear. It really suited her.

“That be a challenge?” said Chloe.

Max laughed.

“Come get me, _Pricebeard,”_ she said.

Chloe swung the knife in an arc, or at least something resembling an arc. She was really getting into it. Chloe Price had always been a pirate at heart. She'd just been born a few centuries too late.

“Avast!” she said.

Dropping the knife, Chloe laughed as she grabbed both of Max's wrists and pinned her against the fridge. Max was reminded of all the fights they had when they were kids. Nothing serious. Chloe loved finding an excuse to just grab Max and pin her down. Chloe would refuse to let go until Max said “Chloe is the best” or something to that effect.

The laughter between them died down. It didn't fade or wane or anything like that. It just kind of _stopped._ It was like someone flipped a switch. Suddenly Max was staring into Chloe's eyes. And she swore she could hear Chloe's heartbeat. And Chloe was so close and so warm and she smelled so _nice._ She shouldn't have, but she did. And Max was hyper-aware of how she smelled, how she was sweating way more than she should have been, how her face was flushed.

“Whoa,” said Chloe.

She sounded slightly out of breath and nothing like herself.

“You, uh, good, Max?” said Chloe. “I didn't hurt you, did I?”

Max's heart was beating out of her chest. This wasn't right. This was absolutely completely _not right._ Her and Chloe had done this a dozen times back when they were kids. So why did it feel so different?

“Yeah, I'm good,” said Max.

Chloe let go of Max's wrists and stepped back, holding her hands above her head.

Max took a moment to recover from whatever the fuck that was. She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to stop her heart from pounding so fast. _Ugh._ Why wouldn't things just be _normal_ between them? Why was there always something there, something waiting to screw everything up all over again?

Another light cut through the darkness. Bad taming. Max's heart had only just started to calm down. Suddenly it was beating out of her chest again.

But it was just Eliot with a flashlight. He aimed the light away from their faces. Eliot was frowning like a disapproving parent.

“Thanks for the heart attack, asshole,” said Chloe.

Eliot looked taken aback. This was probably the first time Chloe had called him an “asshole”. But of course he deserved it. Max had nearly peed her pants.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Eliot. “I just, um.. You guys okay in here? I mean, did you get the flares?”

Chloe shook her head.

“Nope,” she said. “No flares.”

She frowned.

“And you don't have to look after me,” she said. “I'm with Max. It's cool, dude.”

Eliot's gaze flickered to Max for a split second. Max was getting the distinct feeling that Eliot outright hated her. Max just didn't know why. Was he that possessive of this girl he'd slept with maybe once or twice? Or was it something else?

“I..I know,” said Eliot. “But can you come back? To the living room? It's better if we're together.”

Chloe was already leaving. Eliot swung around with his flashlight, ensuring Chloe wasn't just walking off into the darkness. He didn't seem to give a shit that Max hadn't moved. Max was pretty sure Eliot had come in there just for Chloe. Max wasn't even a priority in Eliot's head.

Max followed the two of them out of the kitchen. Even though she shouldn't have, Max was feeling _very_ third-wheely.

* * *

 

**Chloe**

Chloe was walking quickly, her hands stuffed into her pockets.

Okay, what the fuck was that _thing...?_ No, it wasn't even a thing. It was an _event._ An _incident._ Definitely not a thing. Not with _Max._ Yeah, that was totally insane. She'd known Max since she was, what? In third or fourth grade? And they'd basically been the best of best friends since then. That was _it._

So why was Chloe's heart still pounding? And why couldn't she stop thinking about that look on Max's face? Because there'd definitely been a _look,_ right? Chloe hadn't imagined that part? A look that made Chloe feel things. Things Chloe was definitely completely _not_ allowed to feel.

“Flares?” said Dana.

Breaking out of her trance, Chloe jerked her head up. _Flares. Right._

Max moved closer to Chloe, brushing against her. Chloe felt it all over her body, like a shiver racing up her legs and all the way across her back. _Shit._ Max's touch was _electric._ Or maybe Chloe was just sensitive for some reason? She felt like every inch of skin on her body was burning, but not in a bad way.

_Like when Rachel..._

Chloe hunted down that thought and throttled it do death. _No. Nope. No. No. Fucking no._

“No luck,” said Max.

Chloe took a second to remember that they were talking about _flares. Right._ Because not everything was about her.

“Okay, floor open,” said Dana. “Planning session.”

Eliot said what Chloe was thinking.

“What are we planning for exactly?” said Eliot. “It's just one guy against all of us. I'm sure we can handle it.”

Chloe folded her arms.

“Unless he decides to use us for target practice,” said Chloe. “Call me crazy, but I want _all of us_ to make it out of here.”

Chloe knew she had zero reason to give a shit about almost everyone there. But weirdly enough, knowing she had no reason to give a shit made her give _more_ of a shit. These were Max's friends. And as silly as it sounded, Chloe didn't want Dana—one of the few cool people at Blackwell—to die some horrible death for no good reason. Chloe knew what death tasted like and she knew what it was like to lose a friend to crappy circumstances.

Eliot raised his hand, even though no one was taking suggestions. He was such a classic Blackwell bro. How did Chloe even end up hooking up with him? Had she really been that desperate and lonely after Max left?

Well, desperate, lonely, and a horny teenager looking for some action. The more Chloe thought about it, the more it made sense. She wanted to score, Eliot offered her something to take the pain away. Something slightly better than drugs.

“I say we try the fire tower,” said Eliot. “If we move as a group, we'll be fine.”

Max glanced out the window. The storm _was_ starting to get better, but the snow was still coming down hard and the wind was howling. But given the choice between some shitty weather and a mysterious killer, Chloe was pretty sure Max favored the storm.

“What time is it?” said Dana.

They all looked at each other. _Holy crap._ It had been, what? _Hours_ since anyone had checked the time? Time didn't really exist at the Prescott mountain estate.

Max checked the time on her phone.

“It's about two hours until sunrise,” she said.

Chloe couldn't remember when they'd arrived, but it was definitely only a little while after sunset.

“We have to move,” said Chloe.

Eliot started towards the hallway, but he stopped and looked around. His brow was furrowed, like he was trying to puzzle something out.

“Where's Victoria?” said Eliot.

Chloe frowned. She looked around, convinced that Victoria was hiding out in a corner or something. No sign of her. _What the hell?_ Chloe was shocked she hadn't noticed the absence of Victoria's snarky comments. Or maybe she'd been too busy enjoying the lack of Victoria Chase input. But now that she was actually looking around, Chloe realized that she hadn't even registered whether or not Victoria was in the room when they came back.

“No fucking way,” said Max.

She swung her light around. She sounded more angry than scared for Victoria's safety. There was the slimmest chance Victoria had somehow been snatched right under their noses, but Chloe wasn't betting on it. It looked like that bitch had just bailed.

“What the _fuck?”_ said Chloe.

She clenched her fists. Okay, happy fun-time was over. The next time she saw Victoria, she was going to wring her neck. And if Victoria turned up dead? Well, it was kind of her own stupid fault for wandering off. Didn't Victoria know they were all trapped in a death house? Or was that too complicated for Victoria to get through that thick artsy skull?

“I'm not looking for her,” said Dana.

She seemed more exasperated than malicious. Of course none of them _wanted_ Victoria to be dead. But for her to just _leave_ at a time like this? That was totally a dick move.

“Fine,” said Chloe. “Me and Eliot are on Victoria duty.”

Eliot appeared pleasantly surprised by this. Chloe hoped he wasn't getting too excited.

“Max, you need to stay here and get everything together,” said Chloe.

Before Max could argue, Chloe held up both her hands in a gesture of surrender. She didn't want to fight with Max, Eliot, or anyone else. If they wanted to tell her she was insane, that was fine. Chloe had made peace with that a long time ago.

“I know I promised we'd stay together,” said Chloe. “But our team _needs_ a Max. A Max who can get shit done. And you're the only Max here, so... Tough shit.”

Max nervously rubbed her shoulder.

“If you die, I'm _not_ forgiving you,” she said. “And if you're not back in twenty minutes, I'm coming after you. Got it?”

Chloe took Max's face in her hands. She wasn't sure why she did it. Maybe because it reminded her of Rachel? Except Chloe was being Rachel in this scenario. Looking deep into Max's eyes, cupping her face and giving her that reassuring smile that convinced no one. Rachel was a firecracker. Chloe was never going to burn that bright, but at least Max believed she could.

“I'm _so_ going to haunt your ass, Caulfield,” said Chloe.

Max touched Chloe's hand.

“Looking forward to it, Price,” she said.

Suddenly feeling awkward, Chloe stepped back. She wasn't getting that weird tingly electric feeling she had the last time her and Max touched.

No, this time it felt normal. It felt natural.


	18. Bind

**Max**

While Chloe and Eliot were—hopefully—doing something about runaway Victoria, Max was planning. Well, planning _to_ plan. There was no actual plan yet. But Max had a bunch of rough drafts in her head.

Item 1 on the agenda: do something about the Kate Situation. Yes, it had officially upgraded from a “problem” to a “situation”. How had none of them seen even a glimpse of her? No info, no hints. Just Kate _gone._ And in this labyrinth of a house, Kate could have been literally anywhere.

“Are you sure she didn't tell you where she was going?” Max said.

She was hoping Frank had some big lead. But even if he did, why the hell would he even tell them? It wasn't like he benefited from being Mr. Helpful. And he probably knew that Max wasn't going to leave him behind. Leaving an injured man in a house with a killer veered way too far right on the moral spectrum.

“Oh yeah, she did,” said Frank. “Said she was stopping off in _I-Don't-Fucking-Knowville.”_

Max was so used to adults being dismissive of her that she didn't even raise her eyebrows. If Frank thought he was being impressive or clever, the guy was several inches off his mark. Maybe if he was a teacher at Blackwell or one of Victoria's goons. It was kind of funny. Frank thought he was a badass, but with a busted leg he was basically another bully trying to get under her skin.

“So you just let her go?” said Dana. “What kind of fucking adult are you?”

Frank snorted.

“You think I want to be stuck here, sweetheart?” said Frank. “If you haven't noticed, I can't fucking walk. Not like I could have done anything to stop her. And what are _you_ doing to find her, genius?”

Max was wringing her hands.

“I should have gone with Chloe,” she said. “Ugh. _Idiot.”_

Frank shifted his position and winced. He propped his arms up on the back of the couch and leaned back.

“No, you _need_ to stop sticking to her,” said Frank. “You know what happens to people who hang around Chloe Price? They get hurt. Like Rachel.”

Max spun around, shining the light right in Frank's eyes. She didn't actually mean to basically blind the guy, but she was too furious to think about where she was aiming. The second she realized what she was doing, Max lowered the light. Frank was an asshole, but he needed his retinas.

“What do you know about Rachel?” said Max.

Frank raised an arm to his face, probably anticipating another light attack.

“What do _you_ know, little girl?” he said.

Max started to tell him to “fuck off”, but she was honestly a little curious. She desperately wanted and needed a tell-all of this mysterious Rachel Amber. A non-biased retelling of Rachel's tragic story.

Frank pointed at her. He was wearing the smuggest grin Max had ever seen. She suddenly didn't feel sorry for him. If Max had been feeling more malicious, she would have punched that grin off his face.

“That's right,” said Frank. “You don't know Rachel. No one did. No one except good old Frank Bowers.”

The smugness left his voice. Suddenly he sounded less like an asshole and more like a miserable broken man.

“I loved her,” said Frank. “She gave my whole life purpose. But she also burned me. Rachel burned everyone. It wasn't even her fault. I think it was just the way she was raised.”

Dana wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“ _Gross,”_ she said. “You know you're talking about a high school student, right? You fucking creep.”

Frank looked away, his face filled with genuine shame.

“I'm not proud of it,” said Frank. “ _Shit._ I'm gonna spend my whole life trying to make amends for all of my sins. As if a piece of shit like me even deserves forgiveness.”

Max crossed her arms. She hated thinking about this, but Frank had forced the thought into her head. Was she the next Rachel Amber? The next girl dumb enough to get close to Chloe Price? Or was Rachel so destructive that she could dismantle Chloe and Max's friendship from beyond the grave?

Rachel was always going to be hanging between them. And a part of Max was okay with that. There was always going to be a corner of Chloe's heart dedicated to this girl she'd fallen in love with. But the rest of it? The rest of it was all Max Caulfield. 24/7 Max.

“She didn't burn Chloe,” said Max.

Max thought of how Chloe lit up whenever she spoke Rachel's name. Rachel might have been a bonfire, but Chloe had her own spark. Together they could have been an unstoppable force of destruction and fun. But where did that leave boring Max Caulfield?

“Your funeral, kid,” said Frank.

Max was barely listening. Frank was just a bully. Victoria was just a bully. It was _high school._ And Max could handle high school. She'd survived it, even without her best friend at her side.

Chloe was right. Max Caulfield was hella strong.

* * *

 

**Victoria**

One thing very few people knew about the Prescotts: Sean Prescott wasn't an idiot.

Everyone thought he was just a businessman who struck it big with a string of good luck. And they were mostly right, but there was _always_ another side to those success stories. There was a reason Sean Prescott tried to stay away from Blackwell. There was a reason Mr. Prescott had such a gloves-off approach to dealing with his son.

Victoria was pulling books off the library shelves. She wasn't looking for anything particular. She knew she wasn't going to find what she wanted by _looking_ for it. Victoria was leaning into everything she knew about the Prescotts. And given how many times she'd been to Nathan's house, she knew a shitload more than most people.

For example, Victoria knew that Mr. Prescott was a sucker for ghost stories. It made sense. The guy was a total freak when it came to stuff like that. A full believer in the supernatural and a Grade-A weirdo when it came to legends.

So applying that logic, Victoria was about to uncover a Prescott secret. Hopefully. And if it wasn't here, Victoria had about ten more hiding places in mind. The Prescotts were _not_ as subtle and clever as they thought they were.

Victoria's hand shook. Victoria knew she was a failure. She couldn't help Nathan, she was sitting on a pile of rejection letters from tons of major galleries, and half of Blackwell probably hated her guts. And as an extra kick to the tits, Victoria couldn't even get Mark Jefferson to sleep with her.

She clutched one of the books, dragging her nails across the worn cover. _Max._ How did Max do it? How did Max get everyone to like her? How was she Mr. Jefferson's favorite? It made zero sense.

Victoria ran her hand across the book's cover. This was an old one. Probably from the original Prescott library. An antique tucked into a library that no one cared about. Shelves upon shelves of unread books. Victoria felt like she was in yet another Prescott graveyard.

Victoria carefully flipped it open. Holding the flashlight in one hand, Victoria awkwardly balanced the book in the other. If it wasn't here, she'd have to give up on this room.

Her eyes lit up. _Fuck yes._ She'd struck gold.

The Prescotts really sucked at keeping secrets.

* * *

 

**Chloe**

“Personal space.”

Chloe rolled her eyes as she said it. She could feel Eliot practically breathing down her neck. She knew it was hella dark, but _seriously?_ The guy didn't need to attach himself to her like some kind of gross human-shaped parasite. Chloe could practically hear his blood pumping.

To Eliot's credit, he backed off. _Again._ This was the second time Chloe had said those two words.

Chloe was regretting teaming up with him. But how was she supposed to know Eliot had chosen this night to be a total weirdo? Normally he was at least sixty-percent cool. But tonight it was like someone had flipped his clingy switch. Was this all because Chloe hadn't accepted his hug?

“Sorry,” said Eliot.

He sounded flustered, which wasn't like him at all. They'd _fucked._ He'd been _inside_ her. And as much as that grossed Chloe out, she was pretty sure it meant something. At the very least, it meant Eliot had no reason to act shy around her.

She decided not to bring it up. Eliot had always been kind of weird. Maybe the stress was really bringing out some of his issues.

“About Max,” said Eliot.

Chloe instantly wished she _had_ brought it up. She wished she'd thrown herself headfirst into Eliot's twisted brain. She wished she'd decided to play therapist. Anything was better than talking about Max. Not with _Eliot._

“Yeah?” said Chloe.

She was staring at her feet. The last thing Chloe wanted was to trip over something and fall flat on her face. The flashlight Eliot gave her wasn't very powerful. Eliot kept saying there was some kind of brightness setting on it because it was super high tech. But so far Chloe hadn't found anything, so she was trying to deal with the unimpressive beam of light.

“I think you should be careful,” said Eliot. “Like, I know she's your friend. But you know what happens when people go away. They change.”

Chloe rolled her eyes. _Jesus Christ._ Couldn't Eliot be chill for five minutes? Just five minutes of chill time? Chloe wasn't into this whole “jealous boyfriend” act he was getting into.

“Max is cool,” said Chloe. “It's not like Seattle turned her into an asshole.”

Eliot was walking a little too close again, so Chloe sped up slightly. She hoped he would take the hint.

“I know, I know,” said Eliot. “I'm just saying. Sometimes people change. Sometimes they aren't who you think they are.”

Chloe whirled around. Okay, she could handle this shit back when it was Rachel. Because Rachel laughed it off like it was nothing. But now he was doing it with _Max?_

“And sometimes people I _thought_ were there for me turn out to be shitheads,” said Chloe. “Get a clue, Eliot. We're not a thing. We were _never_ a thing. So we fucked a few times and suddenly you're running my life? Do you have any idea how incredibly _fucked up_ that is?”

Eliot raised both hands.

“Hey, I'm not trying to run your life,” he said. “I'm just worried about you. You're spiraling. You know I hate when you do that.”

Chloe's face softened. She was remembering all the awesome shows her and Eliot went to, all the fun they used to have. Sure, it wasn't Max levels of bringing down the house. But it was _something._ It made Chloe feel like she had an actual friend.

“I'm fine,” said Chloe. “Just let me spiral, okay? I can handle the drop.”

Eliot put his hand on Chloe's shoulder. He seemed a lot more _normal._ More like the Eliot Chloe liked hanging out with.

“I'm sure Max is great,” said Eliot. “Just don't get too caught up in making her happy, okay? I know you're afraid of her leaving again, but that's only one part of the story. You need to focus on yourself.”

Chloe brushed Eliot's hand off her shoulder. _Shit._ Chloe really didn't deserve having so many awesome people in her life. Her mom, Max, Eliot. How did they put up with her? How did they keep believing Chloe could do better, that she could _be_ better?

What was that thing Rachel used to say? About how Chloe could burn down an entire forest with her laugh? It made zero sense, but it still made Chloe smile. She just liked the fact that Rachel saw so much in her, even if most of it was bullshit.

Chloe turned away. Eliot was right. First and foremost, she needed to work on herself.

The second she started walking, Chloe realized Eliot was too close again. This time she didn't tell him to back off. Sure, she needed personal space. But it also felt kind of nice. The fact that someone as cool as Eliot—a weirdo, but definitely cool in his own way—wanted to be close to her. There weren't a lot of people like that in Arcadia Bay.

“Max,” Chloe whispered.

She needed to get all three of them out of this. Then maybe they could be one happy friendship pile. The lack of Rachel was definitely a bummer, but Chloe felt like they could make it work. Eliot just needed to sit down with Max and actually talk with her. Maybe over coffee.

The corners of Chloe's mouth twitched. _Iced macchiato._ Max's favorite. Maybe they could go to one of those hipster places outside of Arcadia Bay. Kate could come along. And maybe Dana. They could all drink coffee and laugh about this whole nightmare.

But Chloe didn't know Eliot's preferred type of coffee. She wanted to ask him, even though she was pretty sure Eliot wasn't a coffee guy.

Chloe never got the chance to ask. At the same moment the question started forming in her head, she felt the needle pierce her skin.

And before she could cry out, before she could fight back, before she could _think,_ Chloe was on the ground.

* * *

 

**Max**

Max finished scribbling on the map.

Victoria's map of the estate was pretty thorough, but Max wanted something even more precise. Now all the secret passages were highlighted, secret rooms were circled, and every exit was marked. As Max had suspected, the living room was probably the safest part of the house.

“And what exactly is your point?” said Dana.

She was standing with her arms folded. Dana was already dressed up and ready to go. She'd grabbed a jacket from the hallway. Not _her_ jacket. Dana had found Hayden's and thrown it on. Even though that was kind of weird, Max let it go. There was no way they were leaving Hayden's jacket at the Prescott mountain estate.

“Covering my bases,” said Max.

Frank was holding the light for her. Max wondered if this was one of his “good deeds”. He seemed to have calmed down a little. Less bullying and more watching. Less snark and more helping. Max didn't need to tell him how much she appreciated it.

Max held up the improved map. Looking at it again, she realized that nothing was really stopping them. They really could just walk out the front door as a group and probably escape. But if they were going to try it, Max needed to know _everyone_ was okay.

“Are we leaving our stuff?” said Dana.

Max shrugged. She hadn't really thought about any of that. She had her camera—which she hadn't really gotten to use—in the bag she kept by her side. And of course her phone was always within reach. Everything else—clothes, toothbrush, etc.--was extra. Max was perfectly okay with ditching it.

“Up to you,” said Max.

Dana wrapped her arms around herself.

“Well, I'm taking this,” said Dana.

She sounded defensive, like she was challenging Frank or Max to make a snarky comment. But of course Max didn't say anything. If the roles had been reversed, there was no way Max could have left Chloe's coat—or anything Chloe-related—at the Prescott mountain estate. It would have felt too much like abandoning her best friend.

Max folded up the map and tucked it into her bag. She wasn't sure if it was going to come in handy, but at least she had it.

Dana looked away.

“Hey, Max,” she said. “Can I be real with you? Like, very real?”

Max was surprised. Weren't they finished with the sappy heart-to-hearts?

“Sure,” said Max. “Anything.”

Dana smiled.

“What you and Chloe have?” said Dana. “I think it's beautiful.”

Max blushed. That wasn't what she'd expected Dana to say. She'd never thought of her and Chloe's relationship as “beautiful”. It was just a friendship, right? Well, maybe a little more than that, but... Basically that, right? After all, they'd been together since they were kids. It was _natural._

Max knotted her fingers together. But of course it was _natural._ Everything with Chloe just felt _natural,_ even if it made Max's stomach flutter. Being with Chloe was just the most natural thing in the world. It had always been. Even when things were super intense, like they were in the kitchen, it was _natural._ It was what Max wanted.

But Max never took what she wanted. She just sat there and waited for things. She waited for the skater boys to notice her. She waited for Chloe to call her. Max waited for other people to make plans, for her future to come together, for Mark Jefferson to tell her she was doing a good job.

If it had been anyone besides Chloe, Max would have been scared. She would have been terrified of these weird intense feelings squirming in her gut. But Chloe made Max feel like there was nothing to be scared of.

“Hey, kid,” said Frank. “Its been twenty minutes and your girlfriend's not back.”

Max's heart started pounding faster. Okay, maybe there _were_ things to be scared of. Because this night wasn't over yet.


	19. Lust

**Chloe**

Chloe groaned.

She was starting to come back to her senses, but it was taking way too fucking long. Probably because of the throbbing headache in her skull.  _Ugh._ Worse than the most aggressive hangover in history.

She blinked rapidly, trying to get her vision back. Her brain was basically in pieces.

Chloe tried to grab the basics first. Okay, so she was walking down the hallway. She had the flashlight in her hand.  _Shit._ Where was it? Where was the fucking flashlight? Did she drop it? Did someone take it from her?

_Focus._ Walking down the hallway. Looking for Victoria. Flashlight. And then a prick? Yeah, a sharp sting on the side of her neck. A needle. Someone must have drugged her. And now Chloe was coming out of it, but why was it taking so long?  _Ugh._ Her limbs felt like lead weights.

Oddly enough, Chloe didn't remember any head-to-floor contact. It was like someone had caught her and gently eased her unconscious body onto the floor. Chloe really didn't remember. Everything after that prick was just oblivion.

She tried to move her arms.  _Dammit._ Still too heavy.

Chloe blinked again. She could finally see the room she was in. It was one of the guest bedrooms. Two beds, a mirror, a closet. Chloe was pretty sure it was the same one she'd been in before. The one where she'd found that box under the bed.

_Ugh._ A wave of anger went through Chloe's chest. She didn't even want to think about what that sick fuck had planned to do with Max.

Chloe heard a groan. It was faint at first, but the second one was louder.

She moved her head to the side. It wasn't an easy task. Her head still felt like a medicine ball on her shoulders.

Victoria Chase was lying next to her. She looked even more out of than Chloe. Victoria was lying on her side, her legs curled up towards her chest like she was a dead insect. It looked like her wrists were bound with something. Duct tape? And maybe her ankles, but Chloe couldn't really see. Either way, Victoria was  _not_ going anywhere.  _Shit._

Chloe tried to move again, willing her drugged-up body to actually be useful for once. But then it hit her. The fog cleared from her brain and suddenly Chloe was fully aware of how screwed she was. Because her limbs weren't just heavy. Nope, it wasn't the drugs. It was duct tape. Chloe's ankles and wrists were duct-taped to a chair.

She screamed Max's name at the top of her lungs. Well,  _tried_ to scream. What came out was a muffled garbled mess of almost-words. There was duct tape over Chloe's mouth.

So Chloe couldn't scream and Victoria was too out of it to do anything.  _Fuck._ This was bad.

She squirmed in her seat. Okay, so she couldn't move or talk.  _Bad._ But at least she was alive, right? No gun and no clue what was going on, but alive. That had to count for something. It  _had to._

The door creaked open. Chloe tensed at the sound, staring straight ahead. She was doing a shit job at hiding how piss-her-pants scared she was, but she was trying. Assholes like this  _used_ fear. Chloe had faced enough bullies to recognize the M.O. Except this went a few degrees beyond the usual brand of shithead. But Chloe should still be able to psyche this guy out, right?

And Chloe was totally ready to do that. What she  _wasn't_ ready for was Eliot fucking Hampden.

But there he was, like the herald of Hell. Minus the trumpet.

Chloe's eyes burned.  _Shit._ She didn't want to cry. Didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing tears. But  _fuck._ Chloe  _trusted_ Eliot. She'd gotten high with him, what? A dozen times? He took her to see Pisshead that one time. She'd  _confided_ in him.

_Ugh._ It sounded so sappy and dumb when Chloe thought about it. All those late night talks about Max. Because Chloe thought Eliot was a cool dude. She thought she could trust him, even if he got weird about her and Rachel. Chloe thought Eliot was better than so many of the other guys in her life.

She wanted to swear at him. Spit at him. Rip off his fucking balls and throw them in his face. But all Chloe could do was squirm.

Eliot stopped about a foot from Chloe. He bent over so he was at her eye level. Chloe felt like a little kid. She  _was_ a little kid. A dumb child for even trusting Eliot in the first place. Blind for ignoring all the red flags just because she was so desperate and sad and  _broken._

“I'm sorry,” said Eliot.

Chloe let out a string of swear words, but they were muffled by the duct tape. Eliot could probably decipher based on her expression.

“You're a good one, Chloe Price,” said Eliot. “My blue-haired angel. Always getting her wings clipped. First Rachel, then Max.”

Chloe struggled against her bonds. Was Eliot really going to just stand there and monologue like an evil villain? That was totally okay with her. More time for Chloe to escape and figure out how to kick his ass.

Eliot shook his head, like he was disappointed in her. The worst part was that he was still  _Eliot._ Chloe recognized his tone of voice. She recognized it from some of their rare blazing sessions.

“I cut you open and spill your ink upon the pages of your life,” said Eliot. “Who am I? Merely a passenger. I drift next to you, watching as you accelerate through the atmosphere. You break through the clouds and into the stars above.”

He reached forward and tried to touch Chloe's face, but she jerked her head back. Eliot frowned at her reaction.

“I wrote that for you,” said Eliot. “Did I tell you my grandma was a poet? Surest way to win a girl's heart. But you're not just a girl, are you?”

He touched Chloe's knee. He clearly meant it to be gentle, but there was nothing even remotely tender about his touch. It was hard, possessive,  _angry._ The way he gripped Chloe's knee, practically digging his fingers into it.

“I couldn't let you hurt yourself,” said Eliot. “I know you don't understand. You're so smart, Chloe. But so blind. You don't see what's right in front of you.”

He squeezed her knee harder, like he was reminding her of the position she was in. Eliot's smile was so  _gentle._ He looked like a father figure dispensing some friendly advice. If Chloe hadn't been duct-taped to a fucking chair, she might have been fooled for a second.

“Those girls?” said Eliot. “Max and Rachel? They don't love you. How could they? They don't  _see_ you. They don't see who you really are.”

Eliot moved his hand upward. He placed it in the vicinity of Chloe's thigh.

“But I see you,” said Eliot. “You poor confused thing.”

Fortunately, Eliot lifted his hand from Chloe's leg. He straightened up, shooting her a sympathetic smile. There was a glint of something in his eyes. Something Chloe had never seen before. He was the same prim and proper Eliot. But something had shifted inside of him.

“After Rachel died, I started doing some digging,” said Eliot. “I connected some dots. You know, it's a tragedy. She was so young. So vibrant.”

Eliot sighed.

“But she was so bad for you,” said Eliot. “I know, I know. I should have been more clear. I should have steered you away.”

Eliot smiled. It wasn't an Eliot smile. It was a smile Chloe didn't recognize. A smile Chloe never wanted to see again.

“I'm going to take care of this,” said Eliot. “Like I should have last time. But this time for real. No one's going to hurt you, Chloe.”

He turned and started heading out of the room.

Chloe desperately struggled against the duct tape. Eliot couldn't make out the words Chloe was saying, but the intent was probably obvious. Chloe was alternating between threatening Eliot and trying to scream Max's name.  _No._ There was no fucking way Eliot was going to hurt Max. Over Chloe's dead body.

But Chloe watched helplessly as Eliot left. He just left the room without looking back, leaving Chloe with a drugged Victoria and dozens of threats that would never be heard.

* * *

 

**Max**

Max started towards the stairs.

She didn't give a shit if Chloe got pissed at her. She didn't care if she was being paranoid. Chloe could hate her forever and Eliot could bitch about Max cutting into his time with Chloe. It was time for Max to just bite the bullet and find some answers. Where the hell were Chloe and Eliot? What was taking them so long?

Dana grabbed Max's arm.

“You are  _not_ going after them by yourself,” she said.

Max yanked her arm out of Dana's grip. Max had started to shift into badass mode, but Dana's touch brought her back down to reality.

“Come with me,” said Max.

But there was fear gnawing at Max's insides. She didn't  _know_ if Chloe and Eliot had been taken or murdered or whatever. But if they had, that was definitely bad news. Because if being together wasn't enough to save Chloe and Eliot, what chance did Dana and Max have?

Dana shook her head.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I really am. I care about Chloe and Eliot and Kate and everyone here. But I can't go running off into the house anymore. I can't keep running after people and solving mysteries and hoping I don't fucking die.”

She shuddered.

“After seeing Nathan's body, it's just too much,” she said. “I am  _so_ sorry. The most sorry ever.”

Max was about to get pissed, but she noticed the tears running down Dana's face. Was Dana being a total coward at one of the worst possible times? Yes. Did she have every right to sit this one out, given what she'd seen and been through? Also yes. Dana had been braver than any high-schooler should have had to be.

Max stepped closer. She wasn't good at playing Mama Bird, but it looked like Dana needed it.

“Dana, I know this shit is bad,” said Max. “And I'm sorry we're going through this.”

Dana laughed bitterly.

“And you're apologizing  _why?”_ said Dana. “This isn't your fault. Fuck, I'm not even sure it's  _Nathan's_ fault. We all read the invitations. We agreed to come here, even knowing Nathan was psychotic. I mean, did you  _see_ that meltdown he had in the school parking lot a month ago?”

Max grabbed Dana's wrist.

“This is  _not_ our fault,” she said. “Yeah, we knew Nathan was messed up and we came anyway. But we all thought he was just a spoiled rich kid who freaked out sometimes. We didn't know any of this.”

She secretly agreed with half of what Dana said. No, this  _wasn't_ entirely Nathan's fault. It wasn't even entirely Sean Prescott's fault. Someone else—someone Max hadn't thought of yet—was pulling the strings. They were all just too busy partying to see it. And Nathan was too busy being a sad wreck of a human being to notice.

Max bit her lip. If she'd reached out to Nathan, could she have saved him? That was always how it worked in fiction. The main character extended some basic human kindness and  _boom._ Problems solved. Hugs, tears, music. Probably less effective in real life, but Max wondered if she should have at least tried.

The sound of a door opening sent Max's heart into her throat. It was probably the most innocent sound in the world, but it sent Max's brain into a panicked spiral.

It was one of the secret passages they'd found. Max didn't even remember which one at this point. According to the map, there were dozens of them. And for some reason, a lot of them connected to the living room or led outside.

Emerging from the secret passage—draped in shadow and holding the brightest flashlight Max had ever seen—was Kate Marsh.

* * *

 

**Chloe**

Chloe strained her legs, trying to get at least one free. Her arms were a priority in themselves, but Chloe was itching to give Eliot a good kick in the balls. Hopefully he would be coming back and Chloe could deliver the beat-down he so rightfully deserved.

Exhausted, Chloe fell back in her chair. Why was escaping so fucking  _difficult?_ It always looked so easy in movies. The bad guy always left a knife or something nearby. But of course Eliot wasn't some scripted movie villain. And Eliot might have been “preppy”, but he was far from a dumbass.

Chloe felt like she should have seen this coming. But maybe she was just saying that to make herself feel worse. Because Chloe had to admit something to herself. If this was really how she went out, she had to be honest with herself for one fucking minute.

Eliot was just a Max replacement. That was  _always_ what he was. That was why Chloe had hooked up with him in the first place. Because a little part of herself—a broken confused part—had seen just a little glimmer of Max Caulfield in Eliot. And that was enough. Sure, the hormones had definitely played a part. But there were a ton of guys in Arcadia Bay who would have been down to fuck if she'd asked.

Rachel had kind of been a Max replacement, but not in the same way. Rachel could never have replaced anyone in Chloe's life. Rachel was her own person, a unique phoenix of a human being. And of course Chloe was attracted to Rachel's chaotic energy.

Rachel filled the hole both Chloe's dad and Max had left. She filled it with mindless partying and drama. Rachel was a distraction. Eliot was a replacement.

Chloe shut her eyes. And now Max—real Max, the Max Chloe had always and would always love—was about to fucking die. All because Chloe decided to go off with Eliot instead of sticking with everyone else.  _Fuck._ Why was she such a screw-up?

“ _Because you're Chloe fucking Price,”_ said David's voice in Chloe's head.  _“Of course you're a screw-up. You're just a slacker idiot who got kicked out of school. Do you have any idea what Joyce has had to put up with these past few years? Do you even care what you've been doing to this family?”_

_Joyce._ Chloe could feel the tears now. Running down her cheeks and pulling around her chin. Her mom didn't deserve this. Her mom deserved better than a screw-up like Chloe Price.

Chloe shook her head. What would Max have said? Probably something about how Chloe should get her shit together. Something about how Chloe needed to stop feeling sorry for herself for just one fucking second.

If Chloe somehow survived this night, she was going to apologize. Apologize to her mom, maybe even apologize to David Dickhead. Sure, it was ninety-percent his fault. He was a total garbage piece of shit. But maybe for Joyce's sake, Chloe could at least  _pretend_ he wasn't a dumpster fire.

Okay, so David and Joyce. Who else was Chloe apologizing to? Who else had Chloe wronged?

Chloe looked at Victoria. Her chest tightened with guilt. Maybe if she'd been less of an asshole, Victoria wouldn't have wandered off alone. What were the two of them even fighting about? Stupid teen drama? And now Victoria was neck-deep in this shitand Chloe felt like it was her fault.

Chloe hung her head. No wonder Chloe had been so upset when Max bailed on her. Other than Max Caulfield, Chloe sucked at making friends.

* * *

 

**Max**

Max threw herself at Kate, wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug. In the moment, she didn't give a shit about anything else. Max needed to know that Kate was okay, that she was real, that she was  _there._ Max needed to know her eyes weren't playing tricks on her again.

But it was definitely Kate. Warm, quivering, wonderful  _Kate._ Solid and breathing. Max couldn't believe Kate had just walked into the living room. Just walked in like it was nothing.

Kate didn't return Max's hug, but Max didn't care. She could have stood there all day, holding Kate in place and on the verge of tears. It was exactly like Dana said. This night had been way too much. Every bit of good news—however unexpected—was like a blessing.

“Kate, you're alive,” Max whispered. “You're alive. You're alive. You're fucking alive. Holy shit, holy shit, holy...  _Kate.”_

Kate stood rigid, arms at her sides. She sounded like she'd gotten run over by a steamroller, but otherwise she seemed totally okay.

“I guess I am,” said Kate.

She finally wrapped her arms around Max. It was a loose hug, just the slightest bit awkward. But Max could deal with awkward. She could deal with a hundred degrees of awkward if it meant Kate was alright. And Kate  _was_ alright. Thank god.

“Where did you even come from?” said Dana.

She was keeping back, trying not to intrude on Max and Kate's moment. But she had a huge grin on her face.

Kate untangled herself from Max, backing out of the hug. She looked like she hadn't slept in seven years. Her face was filled with stress and anxiety, her hands shaking. Kate was still holding the now-dead phone, its beam doing absolutely nothing for anyone. If anyone had truly been to Hell and back that night, it was probably Kate Marsh.

“Secret passage,” said Kate. “There's a bunch of them all over the house.”

Max laughed.

“Yeah, we know,” she said.

Kate looked around, a frown on her face. Max was blown away by how  _normal_ she looked. Sure, she'd definitely seen some shit. Kate's clothes were filthy and her hair was a mess. And mentally Kate was undoubtedly a wreck. But she was relatively okay. No broken limbs, no gaping wounds.

“Where is everyone?” said Kate.

The grin fell off Max's face.  _Oh._ She'd just realized that she had about two hundred stories to tell. And only about three of them were actually pleasant.

So Max told Kate the whole thing. She started at the very beginning, easing Kate into the rolling waves of bad news. But there was no way Max could soften every blow. The longer she talked, the more Kate's entire body tensed in fear. Told in sequential order, the events of that night sounded batshit insane.

Kate fell onto the couch next to Frank. Frank reached over to pat her shoulder, but Kate pulled away from him.

“Warren,” said Kate.

Max's stomach clenched. Was it possible that Kate had a crush on Warren? Just a little? Nothing to write home about, but definitely some attraction Kate wasn't entirely equipped to deal with. And the two of them would have been great together.

Max patted Kate's shoulder.

“We'll get out of here,” said Max.

Kate touched Max's hand.

“I pray you're right,” she said.

She bowed her head, like she was praying. Maybe Kate  _was_ praying. Praying for all the poor unfortunate souls trapped in the Prescott mountain estate. Praying for the safety of their friends. Max wasn't a religious person, but she kind of wanted to join her. Prayer was pretty much all they had left.

Max frowned. Her brain was pretty much floating in her skull, but she hadn't gone full dumbass yet. There were some things—well,  _one thing—_ about Kate's story that was giving her willies. The entire thing was beyond fucked. But when Max zeroed in on each individual detail, she kept going into full-blown detective mode.

“Someone had a gun?” said Max.

Kate jerked her head up, her cheeks red. She looked like she'd been caught dropping shitty gossip about Dana or something. It was kind of cute, but in a sad way. Even under dire circumstances, Kate was still partially plugged into her whole “innocent church girl” routine. And Max had to be honest with herself: it was  _kind of_ an act. Kate probably wasn't even conscious of it anymore.

“Y-Yeah,” said Kate. “Um, in one of the bags. There was a gun.”

She nervously knitted her fingers together, like she hadn't meant to talk about that part. Max wanted to be pissed, because why the fuck wasn't Kate taking this seriously? This wasn't Blackwell. Kids weren't getting busted for smuggling weed into the dorms. This was serious shit. But on the other hand, Max could understand why Kate would have wanted to keep quiet. This was  _not_ the best time to be getting suspicious of one another.

“Warren?” said Dana.

Max tried to imagine a gun in Warren's hand and almost laughed her ass off. Warren was just so fucking  _soft._ And not in a bad way. He had this whole soft boy vibe going on. The most non-threatening guy Max had ever met.

“Hayden?” was Dana's next guess.

Max knew precisely two facts about Hayden, but she wasn't buying it. Hayden was way too chill to bring a gun up there. Despite hanging around with Nathan Prescott of all people, Hayden was another Blackwell teddy bear. He never really fucked with anyone.

“Stella?” suggested Dana.

That one was kind of...plausible? Stella was definitely an odd one out. A wild card. Max still couldn't figure out why Stella had even been invited. Maybe  _Stella_ was the one skulking around the estate? Killed Daniel, faked her own death, and started taking them out?

But Kate was shaking her head.

“She wouldn't,” said Kate. “I-I kind of heard her talking earlier. She said something about Warren. I think she was planning to ask him out because Brooke was too chicken...uh...chicken-crap to do it herself. Why would she kill him?”

And Daniel wasn't even an option. The second Max's brain went there, her thoughts just shut down. She couldn't even wrap her mind around the idea of Daniel hurting anyone. And even if he totally snapped for whatever reason, why  _them?_ Why  _now?_

It took Max a second to realize what Dana was doing. Her heart sank into her shoes.  _Shit._ Dana was intentionally naming off their dead friends. Because if it was one of their  _alive_ friends, they were in serious trouble.

But that was insane. With their dead friends out of the equation, who was even left? Everyone in the living room—excluding Frank—and Chloe. Actually, scratch that. Chloe wouldn't bring a second gun—where the fuck would she even get  _one_ gun, let alone two?--and Dana wasn't a liar. Kate was entirely off the table and of course Max hadn't so much as touched a gun in her life.

“Eliot?” said Dana.

Max mentally recoiled at the idea, if that was even a thing. She was ready to go on a whole rant—a legit  _rant—_ about how that was bullshit. Sure, they knew zero percent about Eliot and he was kind of weird and this whole jealousy thing he had going with Chloe was...

Max felt something gross squirming around in her stomach.  _No. No fucking way._ Chloe  _trusted_ Eliot. She gave him the Chloe Price Seal of Approval. Highest honor in Arcadia Bay. And Max trusted Chloe's judgment. She had to. It was  _Chloe._ And that's what best friends—or whatever the hell they were—did, right?

But Max remembered how Eliot looked at her. That icy stare that seemed to stab right through Max's chest. Contrasted against that shy loving little grin he gave Chloe whenever he thought no one was looking. The guy was in love. Totally hopelessly in love with Chloe Price. Max knew that look. She knew that feeling.

Max's brain was in knots, but she tried to stay calm.  _Chloe and Eliot._ Alone together.  _Chloe and Eliot._ Best friends.  _Chloe and Eliot. Chloe and Eliot. Chloe and Eliot. Chloe and.._

Max shot up from her seat, her heart thumping wildly in her ribcage. Some  _friend_ she turned out to be. Always leaving Chloe. Always trying to get away from her, like she thought Chloe was some kind of disease. But Max had never thought that. Even when Chloe was being a selfish possessive little brat, Max never thought that.

_I'm bad for her. She confuses me. I don't want her around me because I..._ fuck.  _Just seeing her face and thinking about all of this..._ ugh.

Max bit her lip.  _That_ was why she'd taken so long to call.  _That_ was why she'd avoided Chloe for so long. All her bullshit excuses for falling apart right in front of her. It was never just the guilt. It was everything else,  _plus_ the fact that she hadn't been there, that she'd lost contact, that she'd been the shittiest friend in the history of shitty friends.

Max grabbed Kate's arm, digging her nails into Kate's skin.

“Promise me you'll leave,” said Max. “If I don't come back, if none of us come back... Promise you'll just  _go_ and not think about me or Chloe or anyone else. You don't deserve this bullshit. This was never about either of you.”

Shaking, Kate grabbed Max's hand. Her voice was choked with impending sobs. It didn't take a genius to figure out what Max was planning.

“Max, I...,” she started.

Max pulled her hand out of Kate's grip. Maybe she was being selfish and dumb. Maybe she shouldn't have said anything. But no one was going to talk her out of this.

She meant every word she said. Every single one. This wasn't about Dana or Kate or Hayden or anyone else. From the very beginning, this was about her and Chloe. It was  _always_ about her and Chloe. The pirates of Arcadia Bay. The photographer and her punk sidekick.

Max clutched the strap of her bag. And if anyone was going to step up and deal with this shit, it was Max Caulfield.


	20. The Wolf

**Chloe**

Chloe heard Victoria groaning.

Okay, some good news for once in her fucking life. The blond drama queen hadn't actually croaked. She was just very very  _very_  out of it. Out of it enough to take a long nap. Or maybe Victoria had died, but only for a few minutes. That was a thing, right?

Victoria wasn't Chloe's preferred partner in crime—that honor went to Maxine Caulfield—but she was better than, well, being alone and scared out of her tits. Not better by a huge margin, but at least Chloe saw a light at the end of that tunnel. Now if only Victoria would open her eyes and be useful for once...

Just as the thought crossed Chloe's mind, Victoria opened her eyes. Great timing. Well, almost. Chloe would have preferred an alert Victoria several minutes ago.

“Wha—huh?” said Victoria.

Chloe wanted to sigh in relief. Okay, so Victoria's brain hadn't bled out through her nose or something. Eliot might have been a creep, but he was no Frank Bowers or Nathan Prescott. Perfect good boy Eliot probably knew jack-shitabout drugs. Maybe he'd been intending to give Victoria an overdose, but he'd missed the mark.

Chloe shuddered.  _Shit._  That psycho could have totally killed her by accident. And Chloe still had no fucking clue what that freak even planned to do after all this was over.

Victoria tried to move her legs, but of course she couldn't. Chloe saw the panic on Victoria's face. The drug hadn't really worn off yet. Victoria was in no position to scream for help or anything mildly helpful.

When Victoria's eyes met hers, Chloe tried to smile. Tried to signal that everything was okay, even though that was complete bullshit. But the duct tape completely spoiled the effect.

_“And it's all your fault,”_  said David's voice in Chloe's head.  _“Nice job, soldier.”_

_Ugh._  Didn't her brain—which for some reason sounded like her step-douche—have anything constructive to say? Maybe a few pointers? Some inspiring quotes? A fucking clue? This whole “calling her a screw-up” thing got old, what? A year ago? But her brain still kept at it, like Chloe actually gave a fuck. If Chloe could have told the voice in her head to grow up, she would have.

“How'd I ge—?” said Victoria.   
She was wriggling her arms around, trying to get her wrists free. Tears were pooling in her eyes, but she hardly had the strength to move her limbs. Even her voice was soft and weak, like she was on the other side of the room.

“Chloe?” said Victoria. “Help me. Please help me. I'm...my hands... Help me. Please.”

If Chloe's arms had been free, she would have shrugged helplessly. But seriously, couldn't Victoria see Chloe was, well, tied to a fucking chair? Or maybe the drugs were clouding Victoria's brain. And not in the good way.

“Please help me,” Victoria continued. “I...my hands...my fucking hands... Why won't you help me?”

Chloe tried to explain, but it just got lost in the duct tape over her mouth.

Victoria sounded like she was having a breakdown. Chloe was right there with her, but Chloe's breakdowns were a lot more violent in nature.

“I'm sorry,” said Victoria. “I'm sorry for all the bullshit I did to you. To everyone. I'm sorry I made fun of Alyssa, I'm sorry I bullied Kate. Fucking Kate. I made her feel like shit for no fucking reason and she almost... Shit. I really thought she might....but I didn't stop. I'm such a fucking coward and a bitch and a disgusting....ugh.”

With renewed strength, Victoria struggled a little harder against her bonds.

“Not like you,” said Victoria. “You could have hated me. You  _did_  hate me. But you were never cruel to me, even when I deserved it.”

Chloe wasn't sure about that. Pretty much the only reason she didn't engage in Victoria's petty bullshit was because Victoria was kind of, well, beneath her. Why bother with Victoria's bullshit drama? Chloe had Rachel Amber and a shit-ton of drugs to keep them company. And at the end of the day, what could Victoria even do? Chloe's world was already fucked up enough. Victoria was background noise.

“And you have Max,” said Victoria. “Fucking Max. Max whose going to save you and not me. And who can blame her? I'm...I'm a fucking asshole.”

Was it wrong that Chloe was slightly enjoying this? Some moments of genuine clarity for Victoria fucking Chase. And all it took was being kidnapped and drugged for Victoria to admit she'd been the bad guy. Chloe was pretty sure Victoria was the one who'd been tearing down those Missing posters. The posters Chloe had plastered up all over the school.

Victoria started sobbing her eyes out, her arms and legs curled up towards her chest like a dead insect. She had apparently arranged and invited herself to a nice little pity party. Cleansing for her, unhelpful to Chloe.

Chloe hung her head. It was all coming back to her now. Every shitty thing Victoria had ever done to her. How Victoria had torn down and vandalized all those Missing posters. How Victoria had practically thrown a party when Rachel went missing. How Victoria was friends with Nathan Prescott. For all intents and purposes, Chloe should have been chanting “Burn the witch”.

But she wasn't. Because Victoria was a teenager. They were all teenagers. Kids. Dumb stupid silly kids. And Blackwell was a hive of drama and elitism that Victoria Chase had fallen into. It was all about getting to the top. Being the best. That was what the art world was. It was petty high school drama, except bigger and broader than anything going on at Blackwell. That was what everyone at Blackwell was taught.

And maybe the art world was like that. Maybe it was bitter and competitive and shitty. But Max wasn't. And she never would be.

Victoria finally stopped crying. She sniffed a few times, her eyes red and puffy from all the sobbing.

“I'm such an asshole,” she said.

Chloe nodded in agreement. They were both assholes. But Chloe had known that for a very long time.

* * *

 

**Max**

Max swung her light around. She was moving slowly—slower than she wanted—but she didn't want to make a ton of noise. The element of surprise was still—kind of—on her side. And the element of surprise was basically all Max had.

At least Kate and Dana were safe. Neither of them had followed her. Maybe they'd actually taken her words to heart? Max hoped they weren't going to do something stupid. Well, okay.  _She_  was doing something stupid. But it was for Chloe, so totally worth it.

Chloe would have done the same for her. Chloe would have jumped in front of a fucking train to save Max's sorry ass. And Max would have thrown herself on a grenade to save Chloe. But in this case, the grenade was a dark house and probably Eliot Hampden. Either way, Max was all in.

Max tried to stay close to the walls. Her method was way too fucking slow, but it stopped her from having to depend on the light too much. She could move with confidence, feeling along the walls and shuffling her feet forward.

She wanted to whip out the map and figure out exactly where she was, but she was afraid of slowing down. Every second she wasn't moving was a second wasted. And Eliot definitely wasn't the kind of guy to waste time.

Was this all a set-up? Some weird plan between Victoria and Eliot, who likely ran in the same circles? Or maybe a threesome, and not in the sexy kind? Eliot, Victoria, and Nathan? Until Eliot and Vic decided to gang up on Nathan and stuff him into a trunk.

_Nope. Nope. Nope._  Victoria was bad, but she wasn't that bad. Victoria was more medium-bad, while Nathan and Eliot were full-on insane. Victoria was the villain who got reformed at the end of the movie. Eliot and Nathan were the Big Bads who ruined everyones' day with explosives and clown masks.

Max allowed herself a grin. Really? Was she seriously making movie references? At a time like this? And not even good references. But if it stopped Max from melting into a puddle of panic, maybe it was worth it.

Max hoped Eliot wasn't ready for her. There was no way he knew she was coming for his ass, right? He was probably sitting around like a jackass, jerking off over what a genius he was for fooling everyone. And Max was more than ready to ruin his day.  _Ready, set, here I come, motherfucker._

She pressed her back against the wall, covering the light with her hand. Was that a footstep? Someone moving down the hallway? If it was, they must have seen the light. They must have known someone was there.

But Max didn't hear anything. She stayed against that wall for what felt like hours, hardly breathing. No footsteps. No shuffling. And if it was Eliot, what would he be doing walking down the hallway without a flashlight? That would have been the highest level of dumbshittery.

So Max peeled herself off the wall and uncovered the light. She shone it down the long hallway. No Eliot.

Max shuddered. She was getting—as Chloe would say--”hella fucking paranoid”. Hearing stuff that wasn't there. Seeing shadows. But there was nothing there. There was never going to be anything there because Eliot wasn't skulking around in the dark like a cave beast. At least she hoped he wasn't.

Only one way to know for sure. Taking a deep breath, Max kept moving.

* * *

 

**Dana**

Dana was pacing back and forth, trying to figure out what the fuck Max was talking about.

“This isn't about you two”? What kind of bullshit was that? They were all in this together, right? But now Max was acting like it was just her and Chloe, like Dana and Kate suddenly didn't matter.

Maybe Max was right. Maybe it was about her and Chloe. But so fucking what? Why did Max have to be such an unbelievable asshole about it? Why couldn't she accept that this was a team effort, not some shitty action movie?

Dana smiled bitterly. Okay, on the one hand, Max was being an idiot. But on the other hand, it wasn't like Dana or Kate were going after her. The thought had never even crossed Dana's mind. Because Max had sounded so confident and in charge. And Dana had fallen for it because she just wasn't used to this side of Max Caulfield.

Kate was sitting on the couch and wringing her hands. Dana would have joined her, but that would have required she be within five inches of Frank Bowers. No fucking thanks.

“Hey, can I tell you something?” said Kate. “Something, um, hardcore.”

That stopped Dana dead in her tracks. Did  _Kate Marsh_  just say she had something “hardcore” to tell her?  _Kate Marsh?_  Dana would have been less surprised if Kate had jumped up and screamed “Fuck!” at the top of her lungs. Kate had definitely earned the right to scream and curse at the ceiling for at least fifteen minutes. The fact she hadn't done it already was a testament to Kate's self-control.

“Anything,” said Dana.

She bit her lip. Dana wanted to talk about Max and Chloe and what the fuck they planned to do next. But Dana needed to come up for air. Focus on being a friend.

Kate glanced at Frank, like she was embarrassed to say it in front of him. But she apparently decided it wasn't worth giving a crap. Dana could relate. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

“I-I did something,” said Kate. “A few months ago. I...I thought it was okay at the time. I told myself I should have been flattered. But I felt so...dirty afterward.”

She wrung her hands, refusing to look at anyone. She looked like she was on the verge of tears. But Kate just swallowed the lump in her throat and kept going.

“He was so nice,” said Kate. “I trusted him. And...and I thought he saw something in me. Something he cared about. But when it was all over, he just...just...”

She sucked in a shuddering breath.

Dana stared, trying to wrap her brain around what Kate was saying. She could tell Frank was doing the same. Because they both knew exactly what Kate was talking about. They knew why she'd kept it a secret. But Dana was having a hard time processing it.

“Um, Kate, did you, uh...?” said Dana.

She was trying to be delicate, but that clearly wasn't going to work. So she dove right in and tore off the Band-Aid.

“Did you fuck someone?” said Dana. “Because that's totally, like... That's okay, Kate. You're an adult, you're...uh...ready. I get it if you feel guilty or whatever, but everyone...”

Kate jerked her head up, locking eyes with Dana. Dana instantly realized she'd fucked up. Because Kate looked angry. Angry and sad and a bunch of other stuff that made Dana feel like an absolute piece of shit.

“You don't get it,” said Kate. “No one does. It wasn't...it wasn't just some guy.”

Deflating, Kate pressed her hands against her face.

“It was Mark Jefferson,” she said. “I thought he liked me. I thought he... But then he wouldn't even talk about it. Wouldn't talk to me. And I realized I'm a stupid idiot for thinking he even cared and...and...I'm such a hypocrite.”

Tears started rolling down Kate's cheeks.

“Is that why....?” she started.

But she didn't finish her sentence. She just leaned over, holding herself and sobbing her eyes out.

Dana gawked like an idiot for almost a full minute. They'd all heard the rumors. Stories about Rachel Amber and Victoria. But no one actually believed that shit. It was all dumb gossip. Even Rachel Amber wasn't wild enough to sleep with a teacher. But now Dana was starting to wonder if she'd been giving Rachel way too much credit.

She eyed Frank, her face pinched in disgust. Were all the men in Arcadia Bay fucking disgusting? Even the ones who seemed cool? Ugh. Maybe there was something in the air.

“It's not your fault,” said Dana. “Mr. Jefferson is....he's a fucking creep. He should know better.”

Kate looked up, trying and failing to wipe the tears from her eyes.

“That's not what my mom would say,” she said.

Dana folded her arms. She knew all about shitty parental figures. She had dozens of stories about her own mom. Needless to say, Dana's mom was not going to be thrilled with some of the stuff Dana had done. Particularly the stuff involving that shithead Logan from the football team.

“Well, your mom's an asshole,” said Dana. “Jefferson took advantage of you. This is on him, not you. Never blame yourself, Katie.”

Kate smiled, possibly in response to the nickname. Dana hadn't even meant to call her “Katie”. It had kind of slipped out. Dana was used to being like that with her friends.

“You got tested, right?” said Dana. “You're not, uh, with child, are you? And no STDs?”

Kate blushed.

“Y-Yeah,” she said. “I'm fine. I got checked. And he used a condom.”

Dana snorted.

“How considerate of him,” she said. “Such a gentleman.”

What was Max going to say? Was she going to completely lose it? Dana wasn't blind. She knew Max had a massive artist boner for Mr. Jefferson. This was going to fucking crush her.

“And you're not a hypocrite,” said Dana.

She thought about all those abstinence posters Kate had plastered all over the school bathrooms. Dana wasn't into any of that stuff, but no judgment. And of course Mr. Jefferson must have known. Maybe that was why he'd gone after Kate.

“What are my folks going to say?” Kate fretted.

Dana plopped down on the couch. She took Kate's other side, putting Kate between her and Frank.

“If you need to tell them, I'll totally back you up,” said Dana.

She wrapped her arm around Kate's shoulders. Dana put on the most stereotypical valley girl voice she could muster.

“Besties,” she said.

Kate laughed.

“Besties,” said Kate.

And for just a moment, both of them forgot that anything bad was happening. They forgot about Max. They forgot about Nathan. They forgot everything was fucked beyond repair. It was nice while it lasted.

* * *

 

**Max**

Max clutched at her chest. Was her heart supposed to be going a gazillion beats per minute?

_Breathe in. Breathe out._  Max stopped, leaning against the wall for support.  _In. Out._  She felt like her heart was about to explode. She felt like it was going to burst out of her chest and she'd fall face-down into a puddle of her own blood.  _In. Out._

_Chloe is okay. Chloe is okay. Chloe is okay. In. Out._  Max pressed the phone against her chest. The slight warmth steadied her, gave her something simple to focus on. The weight of the bag at her side, the feeling of the phone in her hand.  _In. Out._

This was just like that time Chloe and Max tried meditation. Tried it for about three minutes. And Max was totally into it, up until Chloe suddenly tackled her and pinned her down. They fell into a laughing tangle of limbs on the floor, Chloe's face way too close and way too warm and...

_In. Out._  Max's heart was thumping too fast again, her face burning up at the memory. She pressed a hand against her face, feeling the heat of her cheeks.

But it was too late. Max was thinking about it again. All the times Chloe's face was close to hers. All the times they could have...what? Kissed?

Max tried to smile like it was funny, but it had never been funny. It made Max want to....she didn't even know. Scream? Cry? Pound her fists against the wall? Grab Chloe by the shoulders and just...just...do it? Just kiss that adorable fucking face of hers?

Max wrapped her arms around herself. This was sick. Disgusting. Her best friend could be fucking dead and she was thinking about...that. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't everything be obvious and normal and not  _this?_  That was all Max wanted. It was what Chloe needed.

But what did Max know about what Chloe needed? How could Max have a damn clue?

Max started feeling along the walls again, walking forward. What Chloe needed now was to be rescued. What Chloe needed was to be safe.

The wall abruptly ended. Max felt along the wood until she found a doorknob. One of the guest rooms.

Her heart hammering again, Max twisted the knob. Tried to force the door open. But it was locked from the inside. Which probably meant Chloe wasn't in there. Unless Eliot had locked him and Chloe inside one of the rooms so he could...

Max caught that thought under her shoe and ground it into a bloody pulp.  _Find Chloe. Don't think. Just find Chloe._

She moved to the next door. Max pressed the tip of her shoe against it. Could she break down a door if she really needed to? Probably not. Max wasn't a superhero. Just a super bad friend. Her superpower was being too much of a fucking coward.

Max tried the doorknob. Locked.  _Ugh_  Was this whole thing a colossal waste of her time?

Next door was totally getting broken down. If Max really put her back and legs into, she might be able to shoulder the thing open. Maybe break the lock from the outside, if that was even possible.

But the next door wasn't locked. In fact, it was open just a crack.

Max steeled herself.  _Into the lion's den_  Was she ready to face Eliot? Fuck no. Was she going to pull a "Chloe", despite being woefully underprepared? Fuck yes.

She opened the door with her foot, aiming the light inside. Max half-expected to find a murder scene. Walls plastered with blood. Photos of her face--eyes cut out--all over the floor. A psycho's den.

But instead Max found two figures. One squinting into the light, the other lying on the floor.

Max's eyes filled with grateful tears.  _Chloe_  She was alive. Holy shit. Holy  _shit._  She was alive. Despite all of Max's fuck-ups, despite the bullshit they'd been through that night, Chloe Price was  _fucking alive._ How was that even possible? Why was the universe cutting Max Caulfield--Living Disaster--and her partner in crime a break?

"Chloe!" Max said.

She bounded into the room like an excited puppy, her vision blurred with tears. She didn't give a shit about Eliot. Eliot could eat a bag of dicks. Chloe was the only one who mattered.

Max grabbed Chloe's wrist, pawing clumsily at the duct tape. It was the heavy duty kind. Industrial-strength, or at least that's how it felt. Max was too relieved to actually focus on getting Chloe free. Just being able to touch her totally-alive best friend was giving Max a contact high.

Coming to her senses, Max reached up and tore the duct tape off Chloe's mouth.

Chloe pitched forward a little, gritting her teeth as she stifled a cry of pain. She sucked in a breath, her shoulders heaving slightly.

"Holy shit," said Chloe. "Nice timing, Mad Max."

Max nodded, fighting back another flood of tears. She couldn't just turn into a blubbering mess. Not when they were so close to getting the hell out of there.

"Like I was going to leave you, dork," said Max.

She glanced at the person huddled on the floor, taking them in for the first time. She'd been totally focused on Chloe, only half-caring about the other person in the room.

"Victoria?" said Max.

Victoria groaned at the sound of her name. She mumbled something that sounded a little like "Max", but otherwise she barely responded. Given how Victoria totally got off on being the center of attention, this was probably a huge bad sign. But at least she was...okay? Sort of okay. She was alive.

"Uh, yeah," said Chloe. "She's...she's not good. But we're both better. I'm better. Now that you're here."

She smiled. And despite the horrifiying situation, Max smiled back.

"Sorry about the, um, duct tape," said Max. "I tried to be gentle."

In her defense, this was the first time she'd done anything like that.

"It's cool," said Chloe. "Getting all  _Fifty Shades_  up in here."

Max blushed.

"Ugh, you're gross," she said.

Max reached forward and touched Chloe's head. No reason. Max just wanted to touch Chloe. Just wanted to know she was real.

"You know it," said Chloe.

Max struggled with the duct tape across Chloe's right wrist.  _Geez_  Why was this tape so fucking strong? Max felt like she was going to rip Chloe's skin off if she pulled too hard.

Eliot had no fucking clue what he was doing. He just had all these messed up ideas in that sad little brain of his and a vague idea of how to execute them. He was basically only successful by accident. Honestly, that thought made Max feel slightly better about her chances against the guy if they went 1v1. Maybe he'd faint at the sight of blood or something and Max could snag an easy win.

"So I'm Grey in this scenario?" said Max. "I wish. I'm totally Anna."

Chloe gave Max an amused look.

"Wait, did you seriously read the books?" said Chloe. "Holy shit, Max. Gross."

Max blushed.  _Ugh_  She knew what Chloe was doing. And as usual, Max was falling for it.

"I-I might have skimmed them," said Max. "Give me a break. I was bored and curious."

She paused.

"Did  _you_  read the books?" said Max.

She was trying to wrap her head around a reality in both her and Chloe Price had read  _Fifty Shades of Grey._  It sounded like the set-up to a shitty joke.

"No way," said Chloe. "My, uh, mom was into them. Maybe that's why she married a total tool."

Chloe leaned her head back slightly.

"She doesn't deserve a daughter like me," said Chloe. "I'm...this is all my fault."

Max grabbed Chloe's wrist--the one she was trying to detach--and looked directly into Chloe's eyes. Max knew what self-pity looked like. It was  _not_  a fun road to go down. And it never led anywhere good.

"That is  _so_  not true," said Max. "You did the best you could. You were  _hurting_  Chloe. And you were just a kid. You're a superhero for living through all of that."

Chloe looked away, but Max could see that she was blushing. Unintentional payback for all the times Chloe turned Max into a blushing mess.

"Guardian Angel Max," said Chloe. "Always looking out for my sorry ass."

Max smirked.

"Of course," she said. "And your ass is amazing, not sorry."

Chloe's cheeks turned a darker shade of red. Max knew they were both in serious trouble, but she was loving this.

"Crap, Max," said Chloe. "Those Blackwell bros must be falling all over you."

Max smiled to herself. Max knew she wasn't a bombshell. If anything, Chloe was the knock-out. But just knowing that Chloe legitimately thought she was beautiful? Max wanted to melt into a happy little puddle.

"Hey, I'm almost....," Max started.

Max heard the footsteps. Rapid and decisive. Someone big, someone who knew exactly where they were going and what they were doing. Someone who had a job to finish.

Max stood up and turned around. She didn't want to hurt anyone. But that seemed impossible at this point. Eliot was twisted. But Max wasn't going to let him hurt Chloe.But Eliot had hurt Chloe. Max had to stop being chicken-shit.

Max's blood froze. Her heart stopped. She felt like every one of her internal organs was just sitting inside of her, a useless blob of muscle. Because she couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. It was like someone had shoved a fist right down Max's throat and into her chest.

Mark Jefferson stood in the doorway, a mask in one hand and a knife in the other.

And the worst part? The absolute worst part? He was smiling. That bastard was  _smiling._


	21. Sheep's Clothing

**Kate**

Frank was watching Kate and Dana. Watching them move through the darkness, their lights bouncing with every movement. Kate could feel his eyes.

Kate tried not to think about Frank. Getting the whole Mr. Jefferson thing off her chest felt amazing. Like this big weight had slipped off her shoulders. But wasn't Frank Bowers just another gross old man? A creepy guy who took advantage of a teenage girl?

But unlike Mr. Jefferson, Frank actually felt sorry for what he did. Or was he just saying that because he didn't want to be judged?

Kate bit her lip. This wasn't like her. She was usually willing to forgive. What the heck had Blackwell Academy done to her? What had  _this house_  done to her? Was this whole place cursed? Kate didn't really believe in stuff like that. But it made too much sense.

"Hey Dana," said Kate.

She was pulling her arms through an oversized sweatshirt. These layers were going to make it a little harder to move, but at least they wouldn't freeze to death out there. Freeze to death like Stella and Daniel probably did.

Dana was trying to stuff as much as she could into one duffel bag. It wasn't working out too well.

"Do you think people can change?" said Kate.

Dana shrugged.

"I changed," said Dana. "I used to be like Max."

She pulled a blanket out of the duffel bag and dumped it onto the floor. Even though they were totally okay with abandoning their luggage, they needed to take  _some_  stuff. Just in case their escape plan ended with them stranded at the cable car station or something.

"Max is cool," said Dana. "She doesn't care what anyone thinks. She just does what makes her happy. But she's also kind of shy, you know? She hasn't really found herself. I was like that."

Dana rooted around in the duffel bag, trying to make some space.

"I was a little like Chloe, too," said Dana. "Kind of fucked up and bitter about everything. And I never had a Max to bring me out of it. I had to do it myself."

Dana grinned.

"If they didn't have each other, who the fuck knows?" said Dana.

Kate agreed. No matter what happened, Max and Chloe were better off together.

"You ladies done over there?" said Frank.

Dana stiffened.

"Fuck off," she said.

Not the most eloquent comeback, but it shut him up.

* * *

 

**Max**

Max's hands were shaking. She was trying to open her bag, but her fingers didn't seem to be working correctly. Her brain had turned to static.

Back when Max was first getting into photography, she read an article about up-and-coming photographers. The article talked about a lot of big names in the world of photography.

The artists who inspired all those photographers, who helped craft their unique style as they took the art world by storm.

One picture caught Max's eye. Made her heart race in ways she didn't even understand at the time.

Mark Jefferson. A fairly new face on the scene, but definitely a talent. Someone to watch. And the more Max read about him, the more she understood why. His photos were, in a single word,  _breathtaking._  All those beautiful female models, pouting and posing in front of his lens. But Jefferson captured more than their beauty. He captured something raw, something powerful, something almost primal. And Max fucking loved it.

Just looking at his photos, Max felt like she knew those women. Felt like she knew  _him._  Max couldn't even put it into words. It had to do with the way he framed his models.

Some nights, young Max would lie in bed and think about Mr. Jefferson. Posing for him. Feeling the heat of the lights. Smiling into the flash of the camera. Going out for coffee afterward. Mr. Jefferson running his hand up Max's arm, giving her that handsome smile, asking if she wanted to go back to his place.

But it would never happen, right? Max knew that. She wasn't beautiful. She wasn't a model. And Mark Jefferson was never going to know she existed.

Mr. Jefferson smiled. That gentle smile Max recognized from the magazine covers.

"Don't look so shocked, Max."

Max's fingers went limp. Her hand fell to her side. Max didn't know if she was going to vomit all over herself or burst into tears.

That voice. She knew that voice. Max recognized it from lectures. So this wasn't just someone wearing a really good Mark Jefferson mask. This was the real deal.

Max couldn't speak. Her thoughts weren't in order anymore.

Mr. Jefferson stepped farther into the room. He wasn't dressed like a teacher. He'd traded his pristine suit for a plain white shirt and a pair of work overalls. It almost looked silly. But Max wasn't laughing.

"You're the fucker from the shed," said Chloe.

Max swallowed hard. Chloe must have noticed the mask in Mr. Jefferson's hand. Max had been trying not to.

Mr. Jefferson ignored Chloe. Of course he wasn't there for her. He was there for Max. This had always been about Max.

"I understand you're probably confused," said Mr. Jefferson. "But trust me, Max. It's very simple."

He held up the knife in his hand, an amused smile on his face.

"I know how you teens love horror movies," said Mr. Jefferson. "I thought I'd give you the full experience."

Mr. Jefferson let out a frustrated sigh.

"Unfortunately, this whole thing stopped being funny a while ago," he said. "I thought you were  _smart,_ Max. I thought you'd figure it out. I guess I overestimated you."

Max touched her bag. On a scale of one to ten, how dumb would it be if she just charged him? Charged him down and tried to wrestle the knife out of his hands? Probably eleven.

"You're outnumbered, asshole," said Chloe. "Dana and Kate are..."

Mr. Jefferson held up a hand, focusing on Chloe for the first time. He smiled patiently.

"Excuse me," he said. "Could you please, as the kids like to say, "shut the fuck up"? The adults are talking."

He refocused on Max, ignoring the look of seething anger on Chloe's face. Chloe wasn't someone he had to worry about. Neither was Victoria. Max was totally alone.

Max was shaking.

"Why are you doing this?" she said. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Mr. Jefferson looked taken aback for a moment, like Max's question seriously hurt his feelings. Max hoped her words felt like a knife dragging across his rib cage.

"What's wrong with  _me?"_  said Mark. "I'm not the one who built this maze of a house. I'm not the one who dumped all those bodies in the mines. No, Max. That was Sean Prescott and his twisted ideas."

Max's voice was shaking. She felt like her head was turning itself inside out. But she had to keep her cool. Had to keep her guard up. For Chloe.

"You killed Nathan?" said Max.

Mr. Jefferson shrugged.

"Well, yes, but so what?" said Mr. Jefferson. "Nathan had problems. Maybe if someone had reached out to him. Someone who understood him. Someone like..."

Max cut across him, suddenly angry.

"Don't you dare put that on me, you son of a bitch," she said.

Mr. Jefferson grinned. There was nothing charming about it. He looked like a ghoul. A sick disgusting man hiding behind a flimsy facade. And Max had fallen for it.

"Oh Max, you're so self-centered," said Mr. Jefferson. "I was talking about that blue-haired slut behind you."

He eyed Chloe, ignoring the venomous stare she was giving him.

"You know she was fucking Rachel, right?" said Mr. Jefferson. "Of course I can't blame her. That girl gave the best head."

Chloe looked like she was going to leap out of her seat and beat Mr. Jefferson into a pulp. Which would have been awesome, but unfortunately Chloe was still restrained.

"Fuck you," said Chloe.

Mr. Jefferson laughed.

"Don't act so innocent," said Mr. Jefferson. "Everyone knows you and Rachel were bumping uglies. But poor Max doesn't know all the details."

Mr. Jefferson turned to Max.

"And you still believe Chloe cares about you," said Mr. Jefferson. "It's kind of cute."

Chloe struggled against her restraints.

"Shut the fuck up," said Chloe. "You're not breaking up our team."

Mr. Jefferson wanted to say something, but Chloe wasn't finished.

"And Max," said Chloe. "I love you. I've always loved you. It sucks balls that it took all this happening before I realized it. I know you didn't leave me on purpose. I love you, and whatever you want to do with that is up to you."

Max's heart melted. She wanted to say it back, to pour her heart out. But the words got stuck in Max's throat. She almost choked on them as her eyes filled with tears.

Mr. Jefferson gestured towards Chloe with the knife.

"You see?" said Mr. Jefferson. "She's trying to manipulate you. But she doesn't love you, Max. No one just gets over Rachel Amber, even if she's six feet under."

Max shook her head.

"Why are you doing this?" she said.

Mr. Jefferson shrugged again, like this was a totally normal conversation. It was like they were in class, except Max wasn't zoning out during a lecture.

"If I'm being honest?" said Mr. Jefferson. "It's  _art._

Performance art, but art nonetheless. Haven't you ever wondered about the veil between life and death? That moment directly following the loss of self? The loss of innocence?"

Mr. Jefferson grinned.

"I'm not a psychopath, Max," he said. "I'm an artist. If I was a psychopath, I would be killing girls because I'm worried about some ancient curse."

Max clutched the strap of her bag.

"Where's Eliot?" she said.

Mr. Jefferson wiped some dust from his shoulder

"Dead," said Mr. Jefferson. "It's funny. He was never a smart boy. If he had been, he would have seen this coming."

He shook his head.

"But of course he couldn't see past his desire to get in Chloe's pants," said Mr. Jefferson. "He was so blind. He actually thought Chloe cared about him."

Chloe spoke, her voice rising.

"I  _did_  care about him, you piece of shit," she said.

Mr. Jefferson laughed.

"Oh, I'm sure you did," he said. "You cared about him so much that you were willing to ignore his feelings for you. It was all smoke and mirrors. But of course you learned from the best."

Chloe gritted her teeth, her eyes filled with angry tears.

"Rachel loved me," she said.

Max realized what Chloe was doing. She was keeping Mr. Jefferson talking. Keeping him distracted. Chloe thought Max was on the verge of some amazing plan. Unfortunately, Max was kind of stuck.

"No," said Mr. Jefferson. "She loved fucking you. But what's the difference? Love and lust. It's all the same to you."

Chloe faltered, her voice almost breaking.

"No, she loved me," said Chloe. "You didn't know her, fucker."

Mr. Jefferson chuckled, amused.

"Oh, I got to know her  _very_  intimately," said Mr. Jefferson. "It's such a shame that she was attracted to chaos. And such a shame that Nathan killed her with an overdose."

Max froze. So Rachel had been involved with, well,  _everyone?_  No wonder Chloe had fallen for her. Rachel Amber was a little bit of everything Max never was: brave, reckless, a complete badass. And also really  _really_  fucked up in so many ways. Fucked up and manipulated. Just like Nathan.

Max's hands shook.  _Oh fuck._  How many girls? How many Nathans and Rachels had there been in Mr. Jefferson's messed up life? Did he ever think about them? Did he even give a shit? No. People like him never actually cared. They never spared a thought for the lives they left behind. Just like Max.

Mr. Jefferson seemed to sense what Max was thinking. He grinned at her.

"We're a lot alike, aren't we?" he said. "We're artists. We can't make connections with people. It's against our programming."

He pointed at Chloe.

"This one doesn't get it," he said. "She thinks you're fucked up, Max. She thinks  _we're_  fucked up. But guess what?"

He smiled. A loving smile. A smile that made Max feel like puking her guts out.

"I think you're beautiful," said Mr. Jefferson.

Max reached into her bag, fumbling for something. She could feel the anger building up in her chest. Her throat was dry, like she'd swallowed a mouthful of nails. But at least her head was clear. She could think. Think about what Mr. Jefferson had just said to her.

Mr. Jefferson took a step towards Max. He spread his arms, like he actually expected her to listen. But Max was done. If the fucker wanted to beg for his life? Fine. Anything else was just noise.

She pulled out the gun, her hands shaking. She'd never held one of those things before. It always looked so badass in action movies. But this wasn't a movie and Mr. Jefferson wasn't an actor. He was a real human being and Max had just pulled a gun on him.

Mr. Jefferson smirked, but he stopped moving. He almost looked like he was enjoying himself, like he thought this was a game.  _Sick fuck._

"Stay back," said Max.

She hated how much her voice was shaking. She sounded like what she was: a dumb teenager who was scared out of her fucking mind. Was this how Chloe felt the first time she held a gun? Or was Max just a coward?

"You won't," said Mr. Jefferson.

He sounded so sure of himself. But he didn't come any closer. He wasn't a dumbass. He knew they were both balancing on the edge.

Max was fighting back tears. She knew he deserved it. He was a sick piece of shit who'd killed dozens of people. He'd threatened Chloe's life. But now Max had all the power.

 _"We're the same."_  The words throbbed in Max's skull.

She lowered the gun a little.  _No._  They weren't the same. There was more to life than art, more to life than photography, more to life than revenge. And there was no way Mark Jefferson was turning her into a killer.

"What the fuck, Max?" said Chloe.

Max swallowed hard.

"We'll let the police deal with him," she said. "We have evidence. We can take him down."

Chloe was clearly itching for blood, but Max wasn't looking for Chloe's approval. Despite all the bullshit they'd been through, Max knew this was the right call. Max wasn't a murderer. She wasn't Rachel Amber or Chloe Price. And when it came down to it, Max was ninety-nine percent sure neither of them could have done it. Because they were all just messed up teenagers. Hiding from their feelings and making shitty decisions.

Max's grip on the gun loosened, but she didn't let go.

Mr. Jefferson laughed.

"You're such a bad student," he said. "You never paid attention. Always off in your little world."

Mr. Jefferson took another step towards her, daring her to pull the trigger. It was a risky game, but Mr. Jefferson seemed comfortable playing it. Max hated how much he was inside her head. She hated how much he  _knew_  her. She hated how she didn't have the guts to prove him wrong.

"Do you know what I'm going to do, Max?" said Mr. Jefferson.

He smiled.

"I'll cut you a deal," he said. "You let me take your picture and I promise not to kill that little punk slut. I promise not to hurt Kate. I'll turn myself in."

Max let out a laugh that almost turned into a sob.

"That's bullshit," she said.

Mr. Jefferson shrugged.

"Well, yes, it is," he said. "But you thought about it for a minute, didn't you? You actually considered sacrificing yourself to save your friends. How heroic of you."

Chloe groaned, squirming in her chair.

"Just shoot him, Max," she said, "Fucking shoot him. He's trying to mess with your head."

Mr. Jefferson laughed.

"Yes,  _I'm_  the one messing with her head," he said. "Nice try. Someone really should slap some sense into that thick skull of yours. Or maybe you should learn to keep your mouth shut. Like Max."

Tears were falling down Max's cheeks. Her vision was starting to blur, but her hands had never been more steady.

Maybe Mr. Jefferson was right. Maybe Chloe had been emotionally manipulating her this whole time. Or maybe they'd been doing it to each other. Were they bad for each other? Probably. Did either of them even realize it? Why would they? But Max felt like she was always apologizing and Chloe was always pushing her towards the edge. And on some level, Chloe had to realize what she was doing. Maybe Mr. Jefferson was onto something.

Max shut her eyes. When she put it that way, it sounded like Chloe was the villain in her life. It sounded like Max was better off without her best friend. It sounded like Max was naive.

Mr. Jefferson took another step in Max's direction, continuing to close the gap.

Without hesitation, Max pulled the trigger.


	22. Frostbite

**Dana**

Dana was sick of Max's hero bullshit.

Max had been playing--or at least trying to play--the leader for way too long. It got old a while ago, but Dana was apparently too chicken-shit to say that out loud.

Dana was ready to bail. Bags were packed, everyone--minus Frank, but who actually gave a crap about him?--was dressed for the harsh weather, and there was no real reason for them to prolong their stay. Well, except the whole missing Chloe and Victoria thing.

Dana bit her lip. Would she be a total piece of shit if she just grabbed Kate and ran? More than anything else, Dana wanted to get Kate out of that fucking house.

"Hey," said Frank. "So am I freezing my ass off or...?"

Rolling her eyes, Dana unwrapped one of her scarves. She tossed it into Frank's lap. Dana might have been pissed off at him, but she wasn't heartless.

Frank grunted, but he started wrapping the scarf around his neck. Even Frank wasn't dumb enough to turn down an act of mercy. He must have realized how lucky he was, given how much Dana had advertised her dislike.

Kate folded her arms.

"You guys don't have to be so...so  _mean,"_  she said.

Dana sighed. She really didn't want to have another "He's a fucking creepy drug dealer" debate. How could someone defend that gross fuck? Honestly, Dana was a little impressed. Kate's empathy and kindness were, well, bottomless. Dana just thought it shouldn't have been directed at Frank Bowers.

"I need all the drinks," said Dana.

She looked around. But of course there was no booze in the living room. And Dana wasn't touching the bar or the bunker with a ten-foot pole.

Kate smiled sheepishly.

"I'm glad you let me talk to you," she said.

Dana shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. She blushed. They were all lucky, weren't they? In the most twisted way. Dana was lucky to be trapped with some of the best people at Blackwell. If it had been any other cast of characters, Dana probably would have gone nuts. So many absolute fuckheads at Blackwell. If Dana had hung out with the usual crowd--Vortex Club and football bros--she would have bored herself to tears.

"Geez, Kate," said Dana. "It was no problem. Really. I'm kind of used to this. I had a lot of, uh, messed up friends when I was a kid. I got really good at giving out advice. It's totally my special talent."

She nervously tugged at the fabric inside the pockets, bunching it up in her hands.

"The Prescotts are going to pay for this shit," said Dana. "I don't know exactly what's going on here, but I know they had something to do with it. And they're not getting away with it. I'll fuck up Sean Prescott myself if I have to."

She meant every word. She knew the Prescotts were protected, but this was too big. Too concrete. And if Dana couldn't get to him with the law, she'd find another way. They all would.

Frank and Kate nodded. No argument. No discussion. No debate.

Dana reached into the duffel bag at her feet and withdrew a can of bug spray. It wasn't the best weapon in the world, but it was all she could find. And honestly, it was probably pretty effective.

"Wanna go after Max?" said Dana.

Before Kate or Frank could answer, all three of them heard it. It echoed through the halls and down the stairs, shattering the silence. The entire house seemed to come alive with the sound, even as the last echo slowly faded.

A gunshot. It sounded like it came from upstairs.

* * *

 

**Max**

Max's ears were ringing.  _Fuck fuck fuck FUCK._

No one told her it was that fucking  _loud._  It sounded like a cannon going off.  _Holy shit._  Max was pretty sure the entire  _planet_  heard that gunshot.

Her finger slipped off the trigger. She didn't bother re-positioning it. Max could feel a headache building up at the back of her head. For a split second, Max actually thought the room had exploded.

She glanced over her shoulder at Chloe. The shock on Chloe's face was almost more than Max could handle. Of course Chloe didn't think Max would actually do it. Not  _her_  Max. But they'd both changed. They weren't the same Max and Chloe who used to run up and down the lighthouse steps. And after tonight, there was no going back.

Max turned back, her arm falling limply to her side. She let the gun slip out of her grasp and hit the floor. She was relieved. Just holding it made Max's stomach churn.

"Right between the eyes". That felt like something Chloe would have said, a big gleeful smirk all over her adorable face. And they both would have skipped off into the sunset like an action hero and their love interest at the end of the film.

But this wasn't a film. Max wasn't an action hero. And more importantly, Max wasn't a good shot.

Mr. Jefferson was standing a few inches from the doorway, his mouth open. For the first time, his entire facade just fell away. He wasn't smooth and charimastic and in control. Mr. Jefferson was scared shitless.

He raised a shaking hand and clasped his shoulder. He groaned in pain, bending over slightly as his legs threatend to give out. Mr. Jefferson gritted his teeth. Max had shot him. She fucking  _shot him._  And the bullet went right through his shoulder. It must have hurt like hell.

As it turned out, nailing someone with a bullet to the heart wasn't easy. And even though Max was horrified and disgusted, a part of her felt relief. Because she didn't want to be a killer. And even if she did turn into one, Mr. Jefferson wasn't worth it. He was a gross scumbag who would have probably gotten off on the whole idea of Max killing him.  _Barf._

But Mr. Jefferson was bleeding and clearly in pain. He didn't even try to move towards her. Some primal part of his brain was recoiling from the double-whammy.

"So the student betrays her mentor," said Mr. Jefferson.

Max started backing towards Chloe.

"Shut the fuck up," said Max.

This whole thing was an art project, wasn't it? Mr. Jefferson's twisted idea of a performance piece. Except his performance involved dead bodies, torture, and long monologues.

Mr. Jefferson chuckled weakly. But he knew he wasn't in control anymore. He was like a wounded lion. Trying desperately to make himself seem tough, even as the blood flowed and his face paled.

And like the gross coward he was, Mr. Jefferson didn't stick around. He fled, sprinting--or at least trying to sprint--out of the room. Max didn't try to stop him. He wasn't her concern. Hopefully as long as he was wounded, he wasn't anyone's concern.

Max knelt down next to Chloe and started ripping off the duct tape. She ignored Chloe's groans of pain as she pried it off.

"You did it," said Chloe. "You actually did it."

She swallowed hard.

"Max, I am  _so_  sorry," she said. "We've both been...we've both been  _shit_  to each other. And that's not fair. Because we still love each other."

Max didn't reply. She was struggling with the duct tape attached to Chloe's right wrist. She was also trying not to hear Victoria's groans, at least for the time being.

"You didn't buy any of that shit Jefferson was saying, right?" said Chloe. "He's...he's a total psycho. He doesn't know us. He doesn't know what we've lived through."

Still no answer from Max.

Chloe's voice rose.

"It's all bullshit," she said. "I admit I've been acting like a kid. I've been selfish and stupid and I've been taking everything out on you. That's not cool. I'm the worst for treating you like that."

Her voice rose even more.

"Okay, so you never want to see me again," said Chloe. "Fine. Cool. As long as you don't hate me, I'm totally okay with that. We don't have to hang out. I-I'm thinking of leaving. Leaving Arcadia Bay. Because there's nothing for me here. No Rachel. And you're obviously not going to stay."

She sighed.

"Geez, Max," she said. "Say something."

Unexpectedly, Max reached up and grabbed Chloe's face in her hands. Without missing a beat, Max jammed her lips against Chloe's.

It was awkward, the exact opposite of graceful, and honestly pretty fucking bad. Mostly because of the weird angle. But somehow, it worked. Chloe's soft lips against her own, their hearts beating in tandem, sharing body heat. Max felt whole again.

After a few seconds, Max pulled away. She was panting a little, her cheeks red.

"How was that?" she said.

Chloe--with her free hand--touched her face. She was blushing, but she had a big smirk on her face. She looked like the happiest girl in the world.

Max knew it wasn't the time for smooching, but she just couldn't help herself. Because this might be their last chance. And Max was sick of denying herself just because she was afraid of being impulsive or "making things weird". There was no way it was ever going to get weird between Max and Chloe.

"Uh, pretty okay," said Chloe.

Max finally freed Chloe. She smiled as the last bit of duct tape fell away.

"Oh, shut up," said Max. "It was my first time."

Chloe got to her feet immediately and stretched her legs.

"Yeah, I could tell," said Chloe.

Max let out a forced laugh. There was that dumb voice in the back of her head, pointing out that she was a total idiot for doing that. And Max kind of agreed, but why the hell not? Being a total Chloe occasionally was probably going to pay off.

Chloe grabbed Max's shoulder and pulled her closer.

"You are  _such_  a badass," she said. "You're, like, a fucking superhero."

Max wasn't too sure, but she accepted the compliment and let herself be drawn into a hug. She knew they were still in danger, but Chloe's hugs were the best and she really needed a breather.

Max shuddered. She'd seen that look in Mr. Jefferson's eyes. That single flash of pure hatred before he escaped. No more games. That fucker was coming after them for real.

After about two minutes, Chloe let go. Max wished it didn't have to end. She wanted to lose herself in a moment of intimacy, something soft and warm and  _Chloe._  But now wasn't the time.

Chloe grabbed the gun Max had dropped.

Max flinched at the sight of it. She seriously couldn't believe she'd fucking  _shot_  another human being. And if Jeffershit showed his face again, would she have the guts to let Chloe finish the job? Would  _Chloe_  have the guts to finish the job? And if neither of them could do it, would they both be screwed?

"Let's get the fuck out of this place," said Chloe.

Max clung to Chloe's arm.

This might have been their last night together. Max was okay with that.

* * *

 

**Dana**

Kate grabbed Dana's shoulders, pulling her away from the stairs.

"Don't!" she said.

Dana did stop, but not because Kate was clinging to her. She was listening for a follow-up. There couldn't just be a gunshot, right? There had to be something else. A thump, a scream, the sound of shattering glass.

Nothing. No frantic footsteps.  _What the absolute hell?_

Frank had turned himself around. He was peering over the back of the couch, trying to see if anything was happening. But the house was silent again.

Dana wrenched herself out of Kate's grasp. She had a gross feeling in her stomach. Dana's first instinct was to run in the opposite direction, but who was going to rescue Max from whatever-the-fuck had just happened?

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, planning out her next move. Except the only rational move was to get the fuck out of that house before a gun-wielding lunatic charged down the stairs. Dana didn't want to get within five feet of whoever had fired that shot.

Kate pressed herself against Dana and clung to her, shaking like a leaf.

And of course there was  _Kate_  to consider. Screw Frank with a rusty pole, but Kate shouldn't have been anywhere near this messed up bullshit. So essentially Dana had to choose between playing the reckless hero or keeping Kate safe.

Fortunately, Dana didn't have to make that choice. Although if it had actually come down to that, Dana probably would have chosen Kate. Yeah, maybe it was selfish for her to even consider leaving Max and everyone else behind. But Dana was a scared and confused teenager. Survival was at the top of her list.

A gun-wielding lunatic didn't come charging down the stairs. Well, not in the traditional sense. One of them  _did_  have a gun, but she wasn't waving it around.

"Max!" said Kate.

She darted out from behind Dana and rushed forward, squealing with excitement.

Max looked like she'd gone through the dryer on the wrong setting. Everything about her was wrung out. But Dana had no room to be bitchy, not that she planned to. They were all exhausted.

But Victoria was definitely worse off than anyone else. Her head drooped forward and her legs didn't seem to be working. She had one limp arm slung around Max's shoulders. For one horrible second, Dana legitimately thought Victoria was dead.

Victoria lifted her head, locking eyes with Dana. Her expression was glassy, like she wasn't sure where she was or what was going on. Dana knew that look a little too well. Someone had drugged Victoria. And it was taking a long time for Victoria to recover from whatever the sick fuck had given her.

"She needs a doctor," said Chloe.

Frank waved to grab their attention.

"What's she on?" he said.

He sounded like he actually wanted to help. And Dana was kind of grateful.

None of them were experts on drugs. Sure, Dana had popped a few pills. It was pretty much a requirement for anyone even slightly involved with the Vortex Club. And after the night she'd had, Dana was pretty sure she was ditching drugs for a while. Maybe forever.

"I don't know," said Chloe. "But she can barely walk. She's totally fucking out of it."

Before Frank could offer up any expert wisdom, Chloe continued.

"We need to make her vomit," said Chloe. "That's a thing, right? She needs to get it out of her system."

Dana was marching towards the door.

"Yeah, sure, yeah," she said. "Is everyone here? Good. Let's. Fucking. Leave. Before Nathan or whoever the hell..."

Max interuppted.

"It's Jefferson!" she said. "Mark Jefferson did all of this."

It was like Max had tossed a gun into the middle of the room. Everyone just stopped moving. Dana paused halfway to the door, Kate froze in place, and Frank seemed to deflate. Even Victoria stopped groaning for a few seconds.

Dana felt like she was losing her mind. Why did this night keep surprising her?

* * *

 

**Max**

Max gave them the full story. Well, ninety-percent. She left out the kiss.

Her brain was fried, but she managed to get through the first half. She was basically making connections as she talked. All she had to do was accept the premise: Mr. Jefferson was a disgusting creep who thought he was an "artist". The second Max got that crucial detail through her head, every single piece of the puzzle just dropped into place.

So that was why Max kept feeling like she was in a horror movie. This was  _theater_  to Mark Jefferson. The house was a stage. Unfortunately, Hayden and the others weren't in on Mr. Jefferson's grand scheme. But that was an important aspect of this twisted plan. Every good horror movie had stakes.

Max tried to be brief. She gave a short summary of everything she'd been through that night, including the key points of Mr. Jefferson's monoloque. They didn't have time to stand around being shocked.

While Max explained, Chloe and Dana bundled Victoria into a coat and a pair of thick pants. It was difficult, but they weren't going to let Victoria freeze to death. And they weren't leaving her behind. Max had learned her lesson.

"That sick fuck," said Frank.

He'd perfectly summed up what they were all thinking. Even the waver in his voice--a mixture of misery and anger--perfectly captured the thoughts running through their heads.

Max bit her lip. Should she even bring up Rachel? She didn't want to. There was no reason for her to start poking at that scar tissue.

"So where is he now?" said Kate.

She spoke quietly, like she was terrified of the answer.

She'd directed the question at Max, but Chloe volunteered an answer.

"Probably bleeding to death," said Chloe.

She held up the gun.

"Dude, it's fine," she said. "Jeffershit isn't coming anywhere near us."

She didn't sound confident. And she was holding the gun in a weird way, almost like she was afraid of it. Of course Chloe was shaken. It was one thing to act like a badass. But seeing that bullet go through Mr. Jefferson's shoulder must have effected her. Seeing an actual human being get shot was a lot less badass.

Frank snorted, but he kept his unhelpful feedback to himself.

A few minutes later, Max and Dana were hoisting Frank off the couch. He wrapped his arms around their shoulders. Max groaned, but she managed to support him. There was no way she could have done this herself, but Dana was really pulling her weight.

"What about...?" said Max.

But Chloe was already wrapping Victoria's arm around her shoulders and pulling her to her feet. Fortunately, Victoria didn't weigh very much. In fact, Chloe probably could have princess-carried Victoria.

"I've got this, Mad Max," said Chloe.

She handed her gun to Max.

Max almost instintively dropped it. She really didn't want to touch the thing. She kept seeing it every time she blinked: the bullet going through Mr. Jefferson's shoulder. The blood seeping from the wound. The way Mr. Jefferson's entire face twisted in pain for a minute.

Max shuddered, but she accepted the gun. It wasn't like she could hand it off to anyone. And as bizarre as it sounded, Max was probably more experienced than anyone else in the room. Well, except Chloe.

It was going to be slow. They probably weren't going to make it. But even if they all froze to death out there, it was worth it. Anything was better than staying in that house and just  _hoping_  someone would show up to rescue them.

A morbid thought, but Max smiled.

* * *

 

**Chloe**

Chloe shut her eyes for a split second as Max threw the door open. She fully expected something insane to happen. Maybe Nathan's fucking corpse would be standing in the doorway, holding a gun and a Mr. Jefferson mask. Yeah, that sounded just bullshit enough to be the final twist of this horrible night.

But although Chloe was expecting a Nathan zombie, she was instead slapped with a blast of icy air. _Fuck._  It was brutal out there. Chloe was glad they'd all bundled up.

Max, Dana, and Frank went first. Chloe and Victoria were the next ones over the threshold. Kate was the last one out.

Chloe squinted. Visibility out there was complete shit. She could barely see an inch in front of her face.

"Um, where the fuck are we going?" Chloe said.

She had to scream to be heard over the howling wind.

Max turned to look over her shoulder. She raised her voice, shouting at the top of her lungs. She was a little overzealous volume-wise, but at least everyone could hear her.

"The fire tower," she said. "It's our only chance."

Max didn't wait for arguments or questions. Her and Dana started walking, maintaining a steady pace so everyone could keep up. Not that anyone--except maybe Kate--could move very fast.

Chloe groaned.  _Ugh._  Couldn't they go any fucking faster? It felt like they were barely moving. Chloe knew Max and Dana were supporting a grown man in the front. But couldn't they pick up the pace a little?

Chloe immediately shut those thoughts down. She was being an asshole again. Trying to act like Max was the cause of everyones' problems. But that wasn't fair. That was something a shitty friend did because they couldn't face the fact that they were an absolute trash fire.

Honestly, Max was a way better person than Chloe could ever be. Max stayed on that sinking ship known as their friendship for so many fucking years. But then again, so had Chloe. They were both beautiful trainwrecks and staying apart felt wrong in every single way.

Chloe kept trudging through the snow, about an inch behind Max, Dana, and Frank. She felt Victoria shift a few times, but it would be a while before the drama queen was walking again. Chloe couldn't wait until Victoria stopped giving a shit about any of them. Victoria would probably go back to hanging out with the Vortex Club.

Or maybe not. If the Vortex Club collapsed under the weight of this scandal, Victoria would likely be searching from some brand new friends. Maybe Victoria would finally stop being addicted to sycophants and get some  _real_  friends. Friends like Max or Kate. And less friends like Nathan Prescott.

Chloe shuddered. There was no way she would have turned into Nathan, right? Even if she didn't always have someone to prop her up--first Max, then Rachel, then Max again--she could never have ended up like Nathan Prescott.

Except Chloe didn't know that. All she knew was that she was grateful. If Max hadn't been there to save her, Chloe could have wandered off into the darkness. And unlike the last few times, Chloe probably wouldn't have come back.

She was about to yell another apology at Max. If she didn't keep saying "sorry" for her shitty behavior, she felt like all her previous apologies were invalidated.

The words didn't leave Chloe's mouth. She realized that she didn't feel someone walking behind her anymore. Should have been super fucking obvious a few minutes ago, but Chloe had been a little, well, totally distracted and lost in her own thoughts.

She spun around, ignoring Victoria's groaning.

"Kate?" she screamed.

She heard the others pause as she yelled.

Chloe shouted Kate's name again. But there was no answer. And Chloe doubted Kate would have heard them. Not with the wind screaming in her ears.  _Shit._

Kate had disappeared into the snow.


	23. Scar Tissue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short final chapter and an epilogue to round everything off.

**Kate**

Kate hugged herself.

"Guys?" she said.

But she knew no one could hear her. The wind was screeching and roaring in her ears. And Kate had no clue where she was. All she could see was an endless tunnel of dancing frost.

She hugged the duffel bag and backpack to her chest. The only pieces of luggage--along with Max's messenger bag--they'd taken. Kate could have carried more, but she was scared of falling behind.  _Ha._ The irony wasn't lost on her.

So decision time: try to find her friends or wait for them to find her? And the clock was ticking. Tick-tick-ticking away in her head. It was almost freeze-to-death o'clock.

Kate tightened the scarf around her neck. Okay, maybe she wouldn't freeze to death. The storm was finally starting to break. If Kate just waited a few minutes...

Waited for  _what?_  For her friends to realize she was gone? Did she even want that? Did Kate want her best buddies--and Victoria--to waste time looking for her? Or did she want them to get the heck away from the Prescott death house?

Kate dropped the duffel bag and the backpack. She was already snuggled under multiple layers of clothing. Too much excess weight. And who gave a crap about any of their stuff at that point, other than their phones?

Muttering a quick prayer, Kate started hiking through the snow. She knew where they were going. She could just meet her friends there. Sure, Kate had zero clue where the fire tower--or fire station or whatever--actually  _was,_  but screw it. Kate had gotten a brief glimpse of the map. She had a rough--very rough--idea.

Kate had no idea how she'd gotten turned around. Only that it was the absolute worst. But if she walked long enough, surely Kate would either bump into someone or find a building.

She could see a little further in front of her. Just a little, but it was an improvement. Kate gritted her teeth. She could do this. She could  _do this._  She just had to move.

Kate was already regretting leaving the backpack and duffel bag behind, but she didn't stop. If she turned around, she'd just end up getting lost again.

She could see trees. No footprints in the snow, but a ton of nature. Kate had almost forgotten that they were technically in a highly-wooded area.

Kate stopped, grabbing onto a low-hanging tree branch. Kate had never climbed a tree before, but this night had been packed with new experiences. Maybe she should give it a try? If she could get a better vantage point, if she could see where she was going...

Kate pressed her foot against the bark, her heart pounding. She knew the basic idea. The barest concept of tree-climbing. First step: find a foothold and something to grab onto. Or was that mountain climbing?

She stumbled back from the tree, her foot landing heavily.  _No._  Kate wasn't doing this to herself. She wasn't doing this to her friends. She wasn't making a stupid decision and ending up dead or crippled.

As she moved backwards, Kate stumbled against something. Something half-buried in the snow. Kate had missed it before. Way too focused on tree-climbing.

It was a...lump? Like a huge lump of something? What the heck was something like that doing all the way out there? Had someone shot an animal, like a moose or something? And then just left it out there to decompose?

Disgusted by the thought, Kate reached down and brushed some of the snow away. It was silly, but she wanted to make sure. Because if it was an animal, Kate thought it deserved a proper burial.

Kate's stomach lurched violently. Her guts knotting with disgust, Kate backed away from the  _thing_  in the snow. No, not a thing. Definitely not a "thing".

Even bruised and blue from the cold, Kate recognized that face. There were so many people at Blackwell she should have talked to more. Should have tried to make friends with them. But Kate always floundered with that kind of crap, because it was just so tough. She was so used to being judged. But Kate knew a lot of the students at Blackwell really cared about her. This night had proved that.

Daniel was lying there, his body almost completely buried in the snow. Kate didn't know how she hadn't known it was him. Some part of her brain had probably realized instantly, but she'd blocked it out.

Kate stifled a sob. She didn't know a lot about Daniel. She knew he was an amazing artist, a really kindhearted guy. He didn't deserve the crap he got from gross bullies like Logan. And Daniel had been one of the few people who defended Kate, who stood up for her when Blackwell bros tried to get on her case. And Kate had never really thanked him for any of that.

She leaned against a tree. Of course they all knew Stella and Daniel were dead. That was the general consensus. But actually seeing his body, seeing his lifeless stare aimed at the sky...

Kate pressed a hand against her mouth as her stomach heaved. Her guts were fighting with her brain. She was going to vomit all over herself. Kate could already feel it coming.

Something slammed into her. The impact knocked Daniel out of her head, sucked the breath out of her lungs, dropped her lunch back into her stomach. She tumbled to the ground.

Kate sucked in a painful breath. She was lying on her side, gasping as her brain tried to figure out what the heck had just happened. Her heart was slamming against her ribcage and there was a tingle of pain working its way down her windpipe and into her chest.

Someone had tackled her. Someone Kate hadn't seen moving through the trees.

Kate had never been into sports. It just wasn't her thing. All that running, jumping, flying off your feet and getting back up again. Kate had gone to a football game once. Only once. And she just didn't get that crap. Why would anyone want to put on a bunch of fancy gear and just  _tackle_  each other? And now Kate understood it even less. Because being tackled was  _not_  fun.

It was Mark Jefferson. The tackle had been clumsy, probably at least partially unplanned. Maybe his original plan had been to sneak up behind her and grab her. That bullet wound probably made it difficult to think straight.

"You fucking  _cunt,"_  Mr. Jefferson growled between his teeth.

He was lying on top of her. For a second, Kate thought he might have grabbed a First Aid kit and tended to his wound. But that wasn't the case. Kate could tell he'd wrapped it, using a sleeve of his shirt as a makeshift bandage. Kate felt the briefest flash of sympathy.

Mr. Jefferson was panting. His eyes were wild and full of anger. He'd completely lost it. He didn't even vaguely resemble the man Kate had naively slept with or the man who used to give spirited lectures about the history of photography.

Kate whimpered in fear. She wanted to scream, but she had no idea if her friends would hear her.

Mr. Jefferson laughed. It was the laugh of a man who'd realized he was screwed. A man who had nothing to lose.

"You know, you're not a bad subject," said Mr. Jefferson. "I never really got tired of those sluts and their faith. It was always so easy. Those repressed virgins with their holier-than-thou attitude."

Kate's stomach lurched. She wanted to argue, to point out that he'd manipulated her, to defend herself. But Kate knew he wouldn't listen. And she didn't want to give him any excuse to retaliate if she could help it.

"But that's Blackwell," said Mr. Jefferson. "It corrupts. Isn't it beautiful? The journey from naive student to artist."

With difficulty, Kate shifted her position and reached into her pocket. Mr. Jefferson didn't seem to notice.

"How do you think they'll remember you, Kate?" said Mr. Jefferson. "As the quiet religious girl or as the slut who slept with her teacher?"

Kate finally managed to wriggle something out of her pocket. Mr. Jefferson was too lost in his own monologue to notice what she was doing. Good. The bastard wasn't going to see this coming.

Kate's mom used to tell her that prayer was the answer to everything. And Kate still kind of believed that. Her faith kept her warm, kept her sane and positive. But she wasn't a naive little kid anymore. She knew the world was dark and dirty. This night had shown her just how sick and twisted people could be, how true evil could hide in plain sight. And Kate knew prayer wasn't going to save her. But that was fine. For once, Kate didn't need God on her side. She had the next best thing: the will to get herself out of a bad situation and help her friends.

With one swift motion, Kate whipped out the flare gun. It wasn't loaded, but she didn't care. Kate acted before she thought. She flipped onto her back, bringing her arm across in an arc. With one decisive motion, she slammed the flare gun against the side of Mr. Jefferson's head.

The flare gun wasn't particularly heavy, but the blow was enough to stun him. The blood loss from his wound was likely a contributing factor.

Adrenaline pumping through her veins, Kate shoved Mr. Jefferson off of her. She scrambled to her feet, her heart thumping out of her chest.

She started running. The snow was clearing up, so she could actually see a few feet in front of her face. But Kate was still lost, zigzagging around trees.  _Oh god, oh god, oh god._  This was the part where she fell, where she tripped over a rock and ended up sprawled face-down in the snow. And then Mr. Jefferson would...

Kate screamed as a hand grabbed the back of her coat. She struggled, clawing at her zipper with one hand and reaching for a nearby tree with the other.  _Oh god._  How was he so  _fast?_  Why wouldn't he just  _stop?_

Because he was a predator. Mark Jefferson was a predator and Kate was his prey. Kate, Max, and the countless other girls he'd gone after. How many of his students had he slept with? How many clueless teenage girls had followed him home, had let themselves be fooled by his bullcrap? How many of these art projects had Mr. Jefferson staged in his head?

Kate yanked herself free from Mr. Jefferson's grasp. But she didn't run. She knew she wouldn't get far. She knew he'd just kept chasing and chasing and  _chasing._  His grip was weaker, he couldn't run quite as fast, he was tired. But Mr. Jefferson wasn't going to stop.

She withdrew something from her pocket. Mr. Jefferson saw it very briefly. Saw the glint. Maybe he even saw the anger, desperation, and horror in Kate's eyes. Just for a split second. Kate hoped he did. Kate hoped he knew everything she was feeling in that moment, that he knew he'd screwed up. Whereever Mr. Jefferson ended up next, Kate hoped he remembered her face.

She remembered his face. Every single detail. The way his mouth hung open, the paleness of his skin, that brief flash of raw fear across the eyes Kate had fallen for a long time ago. He couldn't have fought back even if he wanted to. He was too weak from blood loss. And honestly, Kate felt slightly bad about that. She felt like she was fighting a wounded animal.

She saw the terror in his eyes as she plunged the knife--Frank's knife--into Mr. Jefferson's side. Kate was still a pacifist. She still believed no one deserved to be hurt, regardless of their crimes. But she was also pissed off.

Mr. Jefferson stepped back, clawing at the knife in his side. His face was calm, his eyes dazed. He seemed to have taken himself somewhere else, somewhere far away from the pain he was feeling. Kate hoped it was nice there.

Kate turned and started trudging her way through the snow. The storm had almost completely cleared up. Visibility was back to reasonable levels. And Kate was pretty sure she could hear her friends.

She didn't look back. Kate knew Mr. Jefferson wouldn't follow her.

 

* * *

 

**Max**

"Kate? Kate?"

Max was screaming Kate's name, her voice shaking.  _Shit. Shit. FUCKING SHIT._  Why the fuck did she think they could just  _go?_  How could she be so dumb and shortsighted and fucking...  _Jesus christ._

Dana was looking around frantically.

"We have to go," she said. "We have to find her.  _Now._  Before that motherfucker Jefferson."

Unease churned through Max's stomach.  _Oh god._  She didn't even think of that. Her head was somewhere way less shitty. She just thought Kate wandered off or something. But what if...?  _Fuck._

"Not to rain on your little parade," said Frank. "But what about Stella and that Daniel guy? Your other friends who disappeared out here?"

If Max hadn't been supporting Frank's left side, she would have punched him in the face. She didn't even care that he was badly injured.

"Shut up," she said. "Shut the fuck up. Kate's not...she's  _not...._

She could tell it destroyed Frank to even suggest that, but he was trying to be realistic. He was trying to be the adult--the  _actual_  adult--and prepare them for the worst. He was just doing a very bad job.

"Only one way to find out, Mad Max," said Chloe.

The storm was clearing. There was nothing stopping them from going after Kate. The only thing holding Max back was the knot in her chest.

Max didn't want to find Kate's dead body. She didn't want to see those lifeless eyes, to know that creep finally got what he wanted. And as long as Max stood there, she could be innocent. She could make up an ending to Kate's story.

"Max? Chloe?"

Max's ears perked up. But she'd promised. She'd promised herself that this wasn't where any of their stories would end. Because even being chased by a freak in a mask, Max believed there was a way out of this shithole.

And despite everything she'd seen--Warren's body, Nathan's body, the complete horror show that was the mines--Max realized she'd never really doubted that they'd made it out of there. Her and Chloe were survivors. And so was Kate Marsh, even if Kate didn't believe it.

So she wasn't surprised to hear Kate's voice, to see her running towards them. Max was only surprised--and kind of ashamed--that she'd doubted herself or anyone else for even a moment.

"Kate!" said Dana.

She was crying.

"Hey, guys," said Kate.

She sounded sheepish, like she felt bad about getting lost. But Max wasn't pissed off about that. How could anyone stay mad at Kate Marsh?

"Can we go home?" said Kate.

It was a silly, childish question. Of course they could go home. What else had they been trying to do this whole fucking time? But Max understood the subtext. She understood what Kate was really asking.

"Sure, Kate," said Max. "Whatever you want."

Chloe looked up, frowning into the sky. It wasn't exactly clear up there, but it was a surprisingly beautiful day.  _Day._  The sun was finally coming up. It was nearing dawn.

It was like something out of a painting: the falling snow, the stillness, the ascending sun. It belonged on a postcard.

"You guys hear that?" said Chloe.

Max didn't hear it at first, but her ears adjusted. She was so used to the silence. But now that Chloe brought it up, there  _was_  a sound. And it was getting closer. Sounded like it was coming from...the sky?

"Holy  _fuck,"_  said Dana.

Max's heart jumped. She stood frozen in place, refusing to believe the image in front of her.  _No. No._ There was no fucking way. Max had to be hallucinating. After all the shit she'd seen, her brain was totally rattled.

But everyone else saw it. They saw it descending like a beacon from Heaven.

A helicopter. A fucking  _helicopter._  Someone was there to rescue them. They were going home.

 

**Epilogue**

The cops found Mr. Jefferson in the woods.

He wasn't dead. Badly wounded, freezing, and a little out of it. But alive. The police called it a "miracle". Chloe called it "the worst luck ever".

Max didn't call it anything. She tried not to think about it, even as it dominated the headlines.

It was all so surreal, like a waking dream. Hopping into the helicopter, watching the estate get smaller and smaller as the helicopter ascended. Getting the fuck out of there. Knowing it was all over.  _Finally._

Apparently someone had received Stella's message. They couldn't get help out there right away, but eventually they sent someone. In a weird twisted way, Stella had saved all of their lives. If she hadn't gotten to the fire tower, if she hadn't been such a badass...

And yet Stella was barely mentioned in the news. Everyone was more focused on Mark Jefferson and all the messed up shit he'd done. Everyone wanted to talk about the Prescotts, about Sean Prescott and his insane beliefs, about how Nathan was a total psycho.

Max didn't talk to any of the reporters. There was nothing for her to say. They'd been through hell and survived. The End. The last thing Max needed was to relive it. And if she couldn't talk about how Stella had saved their asses, Max just didn't care.

It was ironic. Stella was supposed to keep an eye on everyone. Mr. Jefferson--through Nathan--had offered her a ton of money just to keep him updated. And Stella fell for it, because she had no reason to suspect anything bad was going to happen. It was just fun and games, right? Nathan's dumb idea of a prank. And if Stella could make some cash from spying on her friends, of course she was into that. She had no idea she was always intended to be a victim of Mr. Jefferson's sick game.

And Warren. Warren, who only tagged along because of Max. Warren, who died because he wanted to snoop around. And Daniel, who tagged along with Stella because the two of them were friends. Neither of them deserved to die in that house.

Mr. Jefferson was a pretty amazing actor. He tricked two unhinged teenage boys into thinking he gave a shit about them. He used everyone: Elliot, Nathan, Kate, Max. Sold them false promises and stroked their egos. It was sick, but it worked.

Max and Mr. Jefferson were  _not_  the same. Max slowly started to realize that. Because Mark Jefferson liked to destroy. But all Max wanted to do was create. She didn't want a spectacle. She just wanted to be an artist.

True to his word, Frank left Arcadia Bay. Took his dog and his RV and just bailed. He didn't even wait for his leg to heal. Frank left the hospital with a pair of crutches and disappeared.

Max had mixed feelings about Frank, but she hoped he was living his best life. Atoning for his sins. Working out whatever bullshit had landed him in that situation. Getting over the nightmare he'd been through. Max wasn't going to miss him, but she was going to miss seeing his RV in the Blackwell parking lot.

The Vortex Club fell apart. Without the Prescotts to fund their elaborate parties, everyone stopped giving a crap.

Max didn't expect her and Victoria to be friends. But maybe a nod or a smile when they passed each other in the hallway or whatever? A joint crying session in the bathroom?  _Nope._  As soon as Victoria was out of the hospital, she was back to hanging out with her squad. Keeping her distance like Max was contagious.

And Max was okay with that. She didn't need her and Victoria to be buddies. They were never going to be best friends. But at least Victoria stopped talking shit about her.

Max could barely wrap her brain around the whole Prescott situation. She felt bad for Nathan, but zero sympathy for his complete asshole of a dad. No sympathy for the guy who'd been "sacrificing" people because he was convinced the Prescotts were cursed. Well, maybe he was right. Because the shitshow was only just beginning for Sean Prescott. And Max couldn't wait to see the fireworks.

The Prescotts were shit at keeping their skeletons locked up. As it turned out, they'd been doing this kind of stuff for years. Way before Sean Prescott was even born. And they kept  _records._  Actual physical records of all the fucked up crap they were doing. Stashed in the library.

Mr. Jefferson wasn't even a part of it. Well, kind of. He was definitely adjacent, but he kept his distance and just used the Prescotts' money and resources. Manipulated Nathan, gained access to a limitless amount of money and a place to "work". He knew how to play the game. He only lost because he underestimated the reckless behavior of scared teenagers.

Max didn't return to Blackwell. She could have. And a part of her wanted to, despite all the bad memories. But Max knew she couldn't go back. She couldn't pretend all of that fucked up shit hadn't happened. She couldn't live a normal life in Arcadia Bay.

So she went back to Seattle. She left everything behind and tried to forget.

Well, almost everything. There was one thing--one person--Max was never going to leave behind again.

Max and Chloe texted every day. They sent each other pictures. Counted down the days until they could see each other again. Chloe was going to spend Christmas in Seattle. Max couldn't wait. She couldn't wait to introduce her  _girlfriend_  to her folks. Her  _girlfriend._   _Shit._  It sounded so official and scary.

The only bad part--the part that stuck around--was Rachel. Chloe was never going to forget her. Rachel was always going to be hanging over their relationship. Chloe's first real--kind of--girlfriend. And yeah, that sucked for both of them. It sucked that Rachel had so much power.

But Max knew she was Chloe's first. It was a dumb, silly thing to care about. Because who the fuck cared if Max was Chloe's first, second, or tenth? But just knowing that Chloe had always loved her, that Chloe had felt that way for way longer than Max could have ever known... It was...yeah. It felt nice. Just the way everything worked out in the end, even if it was all so messed up. It felt special and real and  _warm._

Max was sitting in front of her window. She was waiting for Chloe's beat-up old truck to pull into the driveway. Was she nervous? Hella fucking yes. She'd already told her parents everything, but somehow this was the scariest thing she'd done in the past few months. Max wasn't sure how her mom and dad were going to react to this brand new Chloe Price. They'd love her, right? Max definitely did.

And maybe after dinner, her and Chloe could talk about it. All the messed up shit at the Prescott mountain estate, Mr. Jefferson, Nathan. All of it. And they could find some kind of peace. Some...what was the word? Oh right. "Catharsis".

Yeah. That's what Max and Chloe needed.  _Catharsis._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive thanks to everyone who commented and left kudos. A huge thanks to everyone whose been reading and commenting since the beginning. You're all lovely and I appreciate your feedback!


	24. Epilogue: Frank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank thinks about Rachel, the Prescotts, and going home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of these epilogues take place around roughly the exact same time.

Frank was on the road again and he felt great.

Well, somewhere adjacent to great. Arcadia Bay was supposed to be the last stop. Time to settle down, right? A wife, a picket fence, two kids. A steady job.

_Ha fucking ha._

That was the shitty part about selling drugs for a living: it eroded all other ambition. Frank knew he was a scumbag. Always expected to end up facing down a gun, getting a shot right between his eyes. Dying at the ripe old age of fifty. Cause of a death: another bad deal.

Frank pulled into a gas station. He winced as another shot of pain spiked through his knee. Good news: he could walk again. Bad news: every step was fucking agony.

Pompidou lifted his head, his ears perking up. He'd been dozing, but Frank's brief grunt of pain had woken him up. Frank heard that familar concerned whimper.

Frank wished he spoke Dog. Wished he could say he was fine and get Pompidou--probably the only living creature who gave a shit about him--to stop panicking over the leg thing. He knew he looked like complete shit before, but Frank felt like he was doing better. Healing.

Chuckling, Frank swung his legs over the side and hopped out of the driver's seat. He bit his lip, stifling a groan of pain as he put weight on his injured leg.

He just needed some smokes. Something to take the edge off.

Frank swung open the door. He left the RV in a hurry, instructing Pompidou to stay inside. The last thing Frank needed was that adorable little ball of fur being overprotective.

The area was completely deserted. Frank was surprised to find someone actually working behind the counter. How the fuck did this place even stay open? This wasn't exactly the on season, but there couldn't have been a significant uptick in traffic. Frank knew places like this. Out of the way, secluded, a whole back-roads kind of deal.

But Frank didn't really give a shit. He just wanted his smokes.

He wove through the shelves, heading for the freezers. He nodded at the tired-looking young man parked behind the counter. Having worked at a gas station, Frank felt a wave of sympathy. The Prescott house had been a nightmare, but working at a gas station was a different kind of hell.

Frank grimaced.  _Fuck._  What was that thing his priest used to say? About the road to atonement? Oh, right. "The road to atonement is paved with good intentions". Not exactly original, but Frank respected the message. If only he knew how this whole atonement deal actually worked. Because despite his best efforts, Frank still felt like shit.

He yanked open the freezer. But of course he still felt like shit. It was fresh in his mind: the house, Mark Jefferson, that poor Nathan kid. Just circling around in there, sucking his brain dry like a parasite.

Frank glanced at the young guy behind the counter. The guy couldn't have been older than twenty. Still basically a kid, at least in Frank's eyes. No kid should have been working at an out-of-the-way gas station. No kid should have had to go through what Kate and her friends had experienced.

Frank grabbed some cold beverages from the freezer. He needed something hot, but gas station coffee sounded like a punchline.

Frank knew he didn't have a lot of room to criticize Mark Jefferson. They were two sides of the same fucked up coin. Predators.

But that was just how Rachel Amber operated. She said what she thought people wanted to hear. She did whatever the hell she wanted. If it hadn't been Frank, Rachel would have manipulated another guy into falling for her and getting her out of Arcadia Bay. Rachel played the game like a pro and felt zero sympathy for anyone who got hurt.

Frank swallowed hard. He was doing it again. Shifting the blame. Pretending he had an ironclad excuse. Because regardless of how Frank rationalized it, he had to face facts: Rachel was underage and Frank was a creep for being interested in her.

He slammed the freezer shut, breathing somewhat heavily. Frank still couldn't believe someone had killed his lionness. Couldn't believe  _he'd_  killed his lionness. Killed her with the drugs he'd given that little Prescott shit.  _Fuck._  Those entitled brats at Blackwell probably would have been the death of him if he hadn't left.

But where the hell was he supposed to go? After all he'd been through, what kind of fucked up community was going to accept him?

Frank smiled. Well, there was  _one_  place he could think of. He'd have to alter his route a little, maybe drive through that shitty seaside town again.

There was a little town in the middle of nowhere. Surrounded by forests. Secluded. The place where his mother grew up. Frank knew the name, but he'd never been there.

It wouldn't have been his first choice, but it was a destination. It gave Frank something to focus on.

He bought two packs of smokes, some booze, and a lottery ticket. Frank considered buying some food, stocking up for the long journey ahead so he didn't have to make anymore stops. But Frank didn't want to stick around. He wanted to be on the road again, a thousand miles away from his thoughts.

No one in Arcadia Bay missed him. Even Kate had probably forgotten about him. She was a kid. She didn't need a creepy drug dealer in her life, especially after what had happened in that house.

Frank stumbled back to his RV. He'd been standing up for too long. Putting too much pressure on his leg.

He jumped into his RV, letting the door swing shut behind him. Frank grunted in pain, pitching forward and dropping everything he'd just bought. He grabbed the front seat to keep himself upright. _Fuck._  Frank needed some of those pain meds. Pain meds and a long nap.

He eyed the door leading to his bedroom.  _Shit._  He'd already burned through the stash he kept in the front.

Frank collapsed into his seat. Despite the throbbing agony in his leg, Frank grinned as Pompidou came bounding up to him. Groaning, he reached down and patted Pompidou's head.

"Good boy," he said.

Pompidou whimpered, resting his head on Frank's non-injured leg. Looking into those dark eyes, Frank felt a pang of regret.  _Shit._  He couldn't even handle thinking about what would have happened if he hadn't come back. If he'd died in that house, and Pompidou never knew or understood why Frank had just abandoned him...

Frank pressed a hand against his face, letting out a bitter laugh.

He shouldn't have been thinking like that, but there he was. Reliving that horrible night in vivid detail. Wishing he could beat the living shit out of Mark Jefferson and Sean Prescott. Wishing Kate had finished Mark Jefferson off.

Frank shook his head. Actually, no. He didn't wish that. Kate was a good kid. She didn't need something like that on her conscious. God only knew what the poor girl was already going through. Kate didn't need a heaping pile of murder to top off her shit sundae.

He sighed. Maybe one day he'd drive through Arcadia Bay. Maybe he'd stop at the Two Whales Diner and see if Joyce still worked there. Maybe he'd ask her--casually--about her daughter. But not for closure. Frank didn't need any of that. No, he just wanted to make sure Chloe hadn't found another shitty crowd and fallen back into her old ways. Frank didn't want her to turn out like him. No one deserved that.

Frank closed his eyes. He might not make it. He'd been working with that assumption since Day One. And if it wasn't for Pompidou, the idea of dying wouldn't have bothered him.

But on the off chance Frank actually made it to his destination, he really did want to attone. He hadn't been bullshitting Kate and the others. Frank wanted to rid himself of his sins. And not because he wanted some kind of divine reward for being a slightly good guy in the end.

Frank was doing this for himself. He was doing it because he wanted to stop feeling like his life was completely shitty and off the rails.

Well, he was never going to stop feeling shitty. But atonement was a step in the right direction.


	25. Epilogue: Victoria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Victoria muses about the Nathan Prescott no one will ever know and contemplates her lost friendships.

Frowning, Victoria stared at a blank wall in her bedroom.

She couldn't back out now. She'd already lugged that huge fucking painting all the way upstairs by herself. And it was a classic. An expensive piece from a local gallery, courtesy of her parents.

So why was Victoria hesitating? Was she just being a sentimental dumbass again? Probably. She kind of missed all those photos.

Victoria folded her arms.  _Oh._  Seriously? Why the fuck was she doing this to herself?

She sat down on her bed, staring at the wall like it had offended her. So many pictures. Mostly landscape shots and selfies, but also her friends. People she'd known since she was a little kid.

Victoria snorted.  _Former_  friends. Apparently no one wanted to hang around a Victoria Chase who was still fucked up from living through a literal nightmare.

At least she still had Taylor. Courtney wasn't answering her calls anymore and the Vortex Club--or at least what was left of it--had frozen her out. Like Victoria was the bad guy or something.

Victoria stood up. She couldn't really blame them. Half of those assholes only wanted status. And they knew cozying up with Nathan Prescott's partner in crime was a good way to gain some perks at Blackwell.

She ran her hand over the blank wall.  _Weird._  Victoria should have been pissed off at them for running away. But could she really blame them? Yeah, it was a shitty thing to do. But it was going to happen anyway. Those people weren't her friends. Nathan was the only real friend Victoria had ever had. And now he was gone.

Victoria dragged her fingernails across the wall. It was so fucked up. Even after all the shit he'd done, even after she found out the truth, she still loved him. Because Nathan was the only person who understood her, the only person--besides maybe Taylor--who wasn't trying to get something from her. Every thing he'd said and done had been real. He'd meant every word.

She leaned her head against the wall, a sob working its way up her throat.  _Fuck._  Everyone thought they knew Nathan. They thought they knew everything about him and his messed up little brain. But no one had a clue. Not a single fucking clue. Had any of those piece of shit reporters actually talked to Nathan? Had they gotten high with him, held him while he sobbed into their chest?  _No._  All they saw was a psychotic teenager who'd teamed up with a killer.

Victoria pressed both fists against the wall, her shoulders shaking. But none of that mattered. Even Sean Prescott didn't know his own son. Nathan Prescott was going to be remembered as a psycho who helped that creep Mark Jefferson commit murder. No one would remember him as a troubled kid who needed help.

_Shit._  If only she'd done more. If only she'd seen the signs. Nathan would have listened to her. Victoria was sure of it. But he'd kept so much from her. He'd lied.

Victoria backed away from the wall. She dragged her hand across her face, wiping away her tears.

Maybe Nathan didn't deserve her pity. But he also didn't deserve what the reporters were saying about him. Everyone thought he was just one thing, that there was only one side to his character. And no one gave a shit when Victoria tried to tell them otherwise.

Victoria walked over to her dresser and yanked open the top drawer. Fuck that dumb painting. It was the ugliest piece of art she'd ever seen. And putting it up wasn't going to make Victoria feel better.

She found the photograph she'd stashed under a pile of shirts. Victoria hadn't been planning to keep it. Mr. Jefferson had handed out copies after his first lecture. Victoria only held onto it because Mark Jefferson had given it to her.

Victoria smiled at the photo. It was from their first day. Mr. Jefferson had taken a photo of the entire class and given all of them copies. So much time had passed.

Her hand shook.  _Max._  Max fucking Caulfield, the girl who'd saved her life. It sounded so surreal. And Victoria was thankful. She was glad Max had been in that house with her. But Victoria was never going to say that to Max's face. She was a coward and she knew it.

Victoria placed the photo on her nightstand. She was definitely getting that framed. And maybe if she felt up to it, Victoria might even start putting some of her photos back up. She wanted to rebuild her bedroom photo wall. She wanted to make some brand new memories and forget about Nathan Prescott.

Victoria sighed. One step at a time.


	26. Epilogue: Dana

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A drunken Dana considers the aftermath of her nightmarish night at the Prescott estate.

Dana clicked off her TV, interuppting the reporter mid-word.

She wanted to keep herself up to date, but it was basically the same shit over and over again. Local teacher arrested, Prescotts in deep shit over the latest scandal, Blackwell reeling. And somehow they never got the facts right.

The multiple-page spread in Blackwell's one and only paper--courtesy of Juliet Watson--had come pretty close to doing the whole thing justice. In comparison to Juliet's top notch reporting, the other news outlets fell a few inches short.

Dana lounged on her bed, staring up at the ceiling.  _Fuck._  Talking to Juliet had been one of the worst experiences of her life. But also one of the best. Because Juliet actually understood, you know? She realized they'd been through some fucked up shit and she tried to be empathetic, even if Blackwell was doing a crappy job.

Dana rolled her eyes, a little pissed at herself. Okay, that was definitely not fair. Principal Wells was at least  _trying_  to keep the rumors at bay. Sure, he was totally in it for himself. First Mark Jefferson, then the Prescotts? Yeah, this was definitely a blemish on Blackwell's record. But at least Principal Wells was putting up a decent front. Those bloodsuckers at the local paper weren't even trying to hide how little they cared about the actual human aspect of this nightmarish fuckery.

And by human aspect, Dana meant her friends. Her friends who were still suffering, most of them putting up with constant harassment from Arcadia Bay citizens. Everyone and their mom wanted to know every gory detail.  _Assholes._

Dana was lucky. All she had to do was put on the waterworks--which wasn't exactly difficult those days--and most people backed off.

The misinformation hurt Dana more than she'd expected. So many people thought Mr. Jefferson's actions were some kind of "gross weird sex thing". And sure, Mark Jefferson definitely got off on what he was doing. But not like  _that._  It was more of a power trip.

Dana rolled over, eyeing her blank bedroom wall. In another life, Dana probably would have fallen for Mr. Jefferson's charms. She would have been in the exact same boat as Kate Marsh. But Dana was officially done with guys like that before she started at Blackwell. Creeps like Mark Jefferson weren't fun. And as Dana had learned from her brief fling with that asshole Logan, she apparently had terrible taste in men.

Dana sat up on her bed. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand.

A dozen missed calls. Everyone she knew had been blowing up her phone for weeks.  _Whatever._  Dana didn't owe anyone the time of day. She had her own shit to sort out.

Her heart sank. No missed calls from Kate. Two from Juliet, but none from Kate Marsh.  _Shit._  Was Kate still super messed up? Or had Kate decided to officially cut contact with everyone for her own mental health?

Dana laughed bitterly. Of course Kate was still super messed up. Kate had fucking stabbed a guy in self defense and now she had to deal with seeing his face every time she turned on the news.

Dana paused. Her head was still buzzing a little from the drinks she'd had earlier. Raiding her dad's booze cabinet had been both her best and worst idea.

Okay, so she was a little drunk. Or a lot drunk. Dana didn't really know which one. But she had to call Katie. Had to make sure Kate was alright.

That interview with Juliet had been one of the hardest things Dana had ever done. It took willpower for Dana to admit how scared she'd been, how she still thought about it all the time. She'd opened up in a way that made her feel like this whole thing wasn't over yet.

And it wasn't over, was it? Not until Mark Jefferson was tried and sentenced. Not until the press finally shut up about the whole thing. Not until Dana stopped having nightmares and drinking herself to sleep. Not until the Prescotts paid for what they had done to all of them. Especially what they'd done to Kate.

Her heart hammering, Dana dialed the number.  _Fuck it._  Who cared if she was drunk? This wasn't about her. It was about Kate Marsh.


	27. Epilogue: Kate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kate gets a call from a friend.

Kate had confessed three times--once to her priest, twice to her family--in the last week and she didn't feel any better.

Christmas was supposed to be a happy time. An excuse to forget about all the bullcrap and have some fun.

Kate hugged herself, staring out of the big window in the living room. Watching the snow fall. Bundled up in a comfy green sweater and a pair of jeans. The familarity was supposed to make Kate feel safe, but she actually felt the opposite. In her head, this scene ended a lot differently.

She kept seeing flashes of it. Daniel's face, the fury in Mark Jefferson's eyes. It was like something out of a horror film. Except it really happened and Kate was bad at dealing with it.

She stepped away from the window. Kate used to love watching the snow. Warm and safe inside her own house, that massive window was like a portal to another dimension. Now it just felt like a flimsy barrier. Her thoughts were out there in the snow, her mind trapped somewhere in that maze of rooms the Prescotts had built.

So she stabbed a guy. Okay, great, okay, great.

No, not okay.  _Not okay._  And no one seemed to get that. They kept talking about self-defense, about how Mr. Jefferson would have killed her if she hadn't done something. But would he have done it? Would he have killed her if she hadn't stabbed him?

Kate didn't know. All she knew was the fury she'd felt, that almost primal need to cause Mr. Jefferson pain. And she'd acted on it without thinking.

Kate pressed both hands against her face.  _Crap._  She wanted--needed--to talk to her parents about this. But what could she say? How could she explain to them how she'd actually  _wanted_  to cause Mr. Jefferson pain? How a part of her had felt this  _euphoria_  after she stabbed him?

She'd already told her mom everything that had happened between her and Jefferson. And it hadn't worked out well. Even through all that grief and concern, Kate's mom had found the will to be judgmental. And it was only with Dana's reassurances ringing in her head that Kate had found the strength to counter.

Kate backed into the couch. She sat down almost unvoluntarily, collapsing onto the soft cushions. She uncovered her face and tilted her head up, just staring at the ceiling. Kate wanted to go home. But she was already home.

She heard pots and pans rattling against each other in the kitchen. Kate felt a pang of regret. She was supposed to be helping her sisters with the dishes. But instead Kate was out there wallowing in self-pity.

She leaned forward and clutched her knees. But that was okay. Her sisters would understand. They'd been so nice through all of this, even as Kate confessed her deepest and darkest sins.

Kate jumped as her phone went off. She could feel it vibrating in her pocket.  _What the heck?_  Who would be calling her at a time like this?

She yanked out her phone and answered it. She didn't check to see who was bothering her--yes,  _bothering,_  because Kate was kind of busy silently freaking out--before she answered. Things had been so insane lately.

Fortunately, it wasn't another jerk from the local paper trying to get an "exclusive".  _Thank god._  If Kate had to deal with another one of those, she probably would have lost it. Why wouldn't they just leave her alone? What the heck did they even want from her at this point?

"Hello?" said Kate.

There was a brief pause, followed by a laugh.

"Oh shit!" said the voice. "It's Kate."

Kate pressed the phone against her ear, a wave of relief passing over her heart. She recognized that voice. A part of her thought she'd never hear it again. Like that was even possible. After their night in that house, they were basically bonded for life.

"Yeah, it's me," she said. "How are you? What's going on?"

Dana laughed again, like this whole thing was hilarious. Was she drunk? Or maybe blazed? That would explain the random phone call after weeks of silence. Not that Kate was bitter.

"I'm fucking  _great,_  Kate, said Dana. "How about you? You doing okay?"

Kate bit her lip. Lying was a sin. Not the worst on the list, but definitely a big no-no in the holy book. And she was  _trying_  to be truthful. She really was. But whenever someone asked if she was okay, Kate felt like she couldn't be honest. Everyone--her parents, her sisters, even her friend Alyssa--seemed to expect her to be at least slightly over it. And Kate wasn't even close.

"N-No," said Kate. "I'm... I feel like crap."

She rubbed her shoulder.

"Did I do the right thing?" she said. "Everyone says I did, but...they weren't there. They didn't see him. They didn't see  _me."_

Kate hated looking at her reflection. She was afraid she might catch a glimpse of the manic bloodlust that had briefly overcome her during the fight with Mr. Jefferson. That animalistic desire to cause pain. Kate still had intense nightmares about it.

"Look, Katie," said Dana. "You did what you had to do. The End. He cornered you and you fought back. And the fucker  _lived."_

Kate stared at the opposite wall. Yeah, Dana was right. Mr. Jefferson was alive, so it wasn't like she was a killer. But that wasn't the only issue.

"That's just it," said Kate. "Sometimes I...I wish I'd killed him. I wish I'd driven that knife right through his head and into his brain. I...I wanted to  _murder_  him, Dana. I wanted him dead."

She felt physically ill just saying that out loud. It went against every thing Kate had ever been taught, every single one of her personal principles. But it was the truth. Kate thought about it every time Mark Jefferson's face appeared in her head.

Dana sighed.

"Yeah, me too," she said. "You're not the only one, Katie. If we could do it all again, I would have killed that fucker myself. But if he wasn't alive, the Prescotts wouldn't be in deep shit."

Kate winced. Yeah, she'd heard about that. Of course Mark Jefferson couldn't resist bragging about how he'd cozied up with the Prescotts, how he'd kept their activities and his own a secret. It was like the guy had zero concept of morals. Or maybe Mark Jefferson just didn't give a crap anymore. The evidence was there. There was no way that creep wasn't going to jail for life.

"But that makes us bad people, doesn't it?" she said. "Murder is never okay."

Dana was silent for a few minutes. The long pause gave Kate time to move over to the window and observe the snow a little more.

"I don't know," said Dana. "I say I would have done it, but I'm not sure. And if you're freaking out about this..."

She took a deep breath.

"Jeffershit is behind bars," said Dana. "That's the only thing that matters. We made sure he can't hurt anyone ever again. We're the good guys, Katie. We stopped a murderer and maybe brought down the Prescotts."

Kate smiled. Dana had a point. And Kate never doubted she was one of the good guys.

"Merry Christmas," she said.

Dana snorted.

"Not now, you dork," she said.

She paused. Kate could almost hear the smile spreading across Dana's lips. Dana was right again. Christmas had come and gone a little while ago. But everyone--including Kate--was still coming down from the high of the holiday. It would have been weird to just ignore it.

"Merry Christmas, Katie."

Dana hung up.

Kate was afraid she'd start freaking out again, but she didn't. The silence didn't feel scary anymore. It felt comforting, like it was something she was slowly getting used to. It felt like the only real thing in Kate's life. Those long periods of quiet.

She stood by the window and watched the snow. In a few minutes, Kate would head into the kitchen and offer to help her sisters with the post-dinner clean-up.

But for the time being, Kate was savoring the moment. Savoring the feeling of being home.


	28. Epilogue: Max and Chloe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max confesses her guilt to Chloe.

The sound of glass shattering shook Chloe out of her nap.

_Fuck fuck FUCK._  Chloe leaped off the couch and sprinted into the kitchen, her heart almost busting out of her rib cage.

"Max?" she said.

Max was standing by the counter. She was frowning, a napkin pressed against her finger. The remains of a bottle--probably beer, Max's preferred drink as of late--were all over the floor in front of her. Pieces of transculent green glass floating in a spreading puddle of brown-ish liquid.

"What the fuck?" said Chloe. "Max, you good? You okay?"

Dazed, Max dropped her gaze to the smashed bottle.  _Shit._  That was, what? Her third one this week? And she'd even cut her fucking finger this time.  _Perfect._  Could this week get anymore shit?

"Y-Yeah," said Max. "I'm cool. I...."

She swallowed hard. Thank fuck her parents weren't home. They would have been freaking out. Probably insisting she needed to be taken to the hospital. Max loved her parents, but they were starting to smother her. Not that she could blame them.

"You sure?" said Chloe.

She rushed to Max's side. She could see the dark red stain seeping through the napkin.

Chloe had been staying with the Caulfields for a few weeks. She knew Joyce wasn't exactly a hundred percent on board with this, but Chloe didn't give a fuck. She'd already apologized a dozen times. But Max needed someone to keep her grounded, someone who knew what they'd gone through. Chloe had already apologized to Joyce for being such a shitty daughter. She'd also apologized to her step-dad, but mostly because she knew her mom wanted peace.

Max could barely express how grateful she felt. Without Chloe there, she would have drifted off a long time ago. But Chloe always knew exactly what to say.

Max smiled reassuringly. Dating Chloe was a lot like being friends with Chloe, except with a lot more cuddling and kissing.

"I'm okay," said Max.

Chloe grabbed a handful of paper towels.

"No, you're not," she said. "You're messed up right now and that's not okay."

Chloe mentally patted herself on the back for that one. It should have gone without saying, but Max needed to hear it at least four times a day. And Chloe was pretty good at yanking Max out of her funk. It was practically her superpower. The Amazing Chloe to the rescue.

"I mean, yeah," said Max. "Aren't you?"

She took the paper towel Chloe offered her. She wanted to dash upstairs and grab some bandages from the bathroom, but Max also didn't want to leave Chloe's side.

Chloe grabbed a broom and started sweeping up the glass.

"Um, yeah, of fucking course," said Chloe. "But I can handle it."

Max grabbed Chloe's shoulder and squeezed it.

"Don't say that," she said. "Chloe, I know you feel like you have to be the strong one, but... I heard you crying last night. In the bathroom. I know you're freaking out."

Chloe patted Max's hand, her mouth set in a tight line.  _Ugh._  Why was Max so fucking  _nice?_  Why couldn't she be a prick like David or Victoria? Chloe could handle pricks. She couldn't handle Max being such a fucking angel.

"Yeah, but I can handle it," she said. "You don't have to worry about me."

Max folded her arms. Was Chloe seriously doing this? After all the shit they'd been through? After everything they'd lived through, Chloe was still acting this way? Hiding her feelings, pretending she was okay?

"This isn't handling it," said Max. "You have to talk to me. I know I've been the worst girlfriend ever. I know I've been dumping all of my baggage on you and that's not cool."

Chloe spun around, dropping the broom. She heard it clatter to the floor.

"Don't say that," she said.

She grabbed Max, wrapping her in a hug. It felt like a year since they'd actually touched each other. Chloe had been holding back, afraid she'd want more than Max was willing to give. Chloe and Rachel's relationship had been constant excitement, everything moving too fast for Chloe to catch her breath. But with Max, Chloe was willing to take it slow.

"I'm so lucky to have you," said Chloe. "I...I thought you were going to just....I thought you were lying. I thought you'd bail on me just like everyone else. But you didn't. You even...you even told your fucking parents about us. You weren't scared of being judged."

Max sighed. Her parents were still in denial about the whole her and Chloe thing, but Max was sure they'd come around. At least they hadn't kicked her out of the house or anything. They probably just needed a few months to process everything.

"Are you for real?" said Max. "I was  _so_  scared. I almost pissed my pants."

She brought Chloe's hand to her mouth and kissed it, closing her eyes.

"But I don't care what they think," said Max. "I don't care what anyone thinks. I love you and that's the only thing that matters. We survived."

Chloe chuckled bitterly.

"Barely," she said.

Max squeezed Chloe's hand.

"And I didn't tell you everything," she said.

She took a deep breath. So much had happened during those few weeks. Stuff was still happening and Max wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel.

"You know when I shot Mr. Jefferson?" she said.

Chloe nodded. How could she forget? Seeing that fucker get a bullet through the shoulder had been the highlight of the night.

Max bit her lip.

"I was going to  _kill_  for you, Chloe," she said. "I was ready to....I was ready to take a life just to make sure you were safe. It wasn't about Kate or Dana or Warren."

She shook her head.

"I know it's fucked up," said Max. "But seeing you tied up like that, I just..."

Chloe pressed Max's head into her chest and shushed her. She could feel Max shaking and sobbing in her arms.

"Max, you did what you had to do," said Chloe. "And I'm hella grateful."

Max swallowed hard.

"But if I hadn't left," she said. "Shit, this is all my fault. Rachel was my replacement. You wouldn't have gotten dragged into all of this if I'd stayed in Arcadia Bay."

Chloe stroked Max's hair. She spoke softly, trying to keep Max calm. She felt like she'd been doing that constantly for those past few weeks. But Chloe wasn't bitter. Max had been through hell. Max deserved all the comfort in the world.

"Yeah, Max, you're right," said Chloe. "But that's in the past. I  _chose_  to get involved with Rachel. I chose to be angry at you. It's on me."

She held Max tighter.

"And I could never replace you," said Chloe. "You're a hundred times cooler than Rachel Amber."

Max laughed.

"You don't mean that," said Max.

Chloe smiled. She really missed hearing Max's laugh. It was probably the cutest sound in the world. And Chloe never got tired of it.

"Come on, Mad Max," said Chloe. "Rachel might have been awesome and pretty and a fucking bombshell. But hanging out with her got old pretty fast. She hated being bored. Sometimes I just wanted to chill."

Max withdrew from Chloe's arms and took a step back. She was finally smiling.

"We'd better clean up this mess before my parents get home," said Max.

Chloe snorted. She handed Max the wad of paper towels.

"Like they're actually going to punish you," said Chloe. "You're basically immune for a few months. Enjoy it while it lasts."

Chloe was right. Max's parents were pretty much walking on eggshells, too freaked out to even consider being angry at Max. They even let Max and Chloe drink, or at least they pretended not to notice the empty beer bottles. If they hadn't been reeling from everything, they probably would have been less accomodating towards Chloe.

While Max mopped up the spilled beer, Chloe grabbed two more from the fridge. They had some time to kill before Mr. and Mrs. Caulfield got home from work. And it was snowing outside. Perfect excuse to stay indoors and watch a cheesy Christmas movie.

Chloe shut the fridge. Maybe in a few weeks, Max would be comfortable enough for them to move their relationship to the next level. Baby steps. Chloe could wait.

In the meantime, all Chloe wanted to do was flop down on the couch, put on a dumb movie, and cuddle with her girlfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so incredibly grateful for all the kind words and support. Working on this story from beginning to end was such a wonderful experience for me. Every heartfelt comment and criticism encouraged me to keep going. I'm sorry it has to end here, because I truly enjoyed every second of writing this. A hearty thanks to every single one of my supporters!


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